Gravity
by cornfedfiddler
Summary: Sequel to "Plum Sweet." Ranger and Stephanie committed themselves to each other on a job in Atlanta. How does that translate now that they're back in Jersey? After life-changing injuries, Joe Morelli has to adapt to a life without his career in law enforcement. What is next for him? The next phase of "Plum Sweet" begins here.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is a sequel to my first novel-length story, "Plum Sweet". This story will make a lot more sense after reading its predecessor. As always, everything familiar belongs to Janet Evanovich. I simply enjoy creating new or different situations for her characters.

They say when life gives you lemons, you're supposed to make lemonade. At this very moment, I was contemplating what exactly life intended for me to create from a four-hour long stake out. I'd been sitting in the car so long my butt was asleep, and I could barely keep my eyes open in the warm car. The spring sun was beating down, warming the air temperature to just above my comfort level. A nap was inevitable, but I really needed to see the stake out through. My credit card payment depended on a successful apprehension.

My name is Stephanie Plum. I work as a bond enforcement agent for my cousin's bail bonds office, Vincent Plum Bail Bonds. I'm average height, average intelligence, and am the genetic recipient of a head full of unruly, curly brown hair. My metabolism is pretty forgiving considering my doughnut-heavy diet, and I can almost always button my jeans. Unfortunately, today was the exception, the top button of my jeans popped under my girly cut v-neck maroon t-shirt. My father's heritage is Italian, my mother's heritage is Hungarian, and my attitude is Jersey through and through. I grew up in a blue-collar section of Trenton called Chambersburg—or the Burg for short. In the Burg, the houses were small, the yards were tidy, and the gossip was endless.

"I don't think he's here," Lula said, fanning herself with an envelope. "We've been sitting here for hours, and I need to tinkle. I'm hungry. Let's get out of here and pick up one of those double Clucky burgers at Cluck in a Bucket."

"I'm sure Silvas is here," I said with mounting frustration. "His neighbor called this morning to rat him out. I'm not leaving without him."

I'd sat here twice before this week staking out Mario Silvas. I'd spoken with his neighbors and left my card, hoping they'd call if Mario came home. Lucky for me, that call had come today.

According to his file, Silvas was a sixty-eight year old retired banker. According to Connie Rizolli, the bonds office file clerk, he was still active in finance, laundering money for the many illegitimate business run by the Trenton mob. Considering Connie's family was mob, I guess she should know. Silvas had been charged with possession with intent to distribute when he, in an attempt to diversify his business, was caught with half a kilogram of cocaine in his car. My weasel cousin wrote his bond, and now he was in my crosshairs as a meal ticket.

"Maybe we need to get invisible," Lula said, examining her lime green manicure. Her nails matched her lime green halter top dress and strappy heels. Her chocolate skin was smooth and flawless. Lula's dark brown hair was straightened to the texture of boar bristle with a lime green chunk of clip in hair to tie the ensemble together.

"This dude ain't gonna come home with this monster parked out front of his house. Everybody and their grandmother knows you drive this car."

I heaved a sigh. Lula was right. Unfortunately, my Corolla had met its untimely demise at the hands of a sewage truck not long ago, leaving me to drive my Uncle Sandor's powder blue and white 1957 Buick Roadmaster. Uncle Sandor had bequeathed the refrigerator-on-wheels to my Grandma Mazur when he moved into a nursing home. Since Grandma didn't have a driver's license, I often drove it when I needed a spare set of wheels. Given my car karma, I needed the car monthly. The car did nothing for my image, but it was free and indestructible. I really needed a new car.

"How would you suggest we get 'invisible'?" I asked.

"We could sit here in my car," Lula said, a bead of sweat trickling down her chest and disappearing between her two giant boobs.

"Your car is a bright red sports car. I wouldn't call that invisible."

"At least it's got air conditioning."

She did have a point.

I inserted the key in the ignition and rolled the engine over. "Let's roll. We'll try again later."

"Where we goin'?" Lula asked, buckling herself in.

"Gioviccini's. I'm starving."

"No Double Clucky burger?"

"Not today. I can't button my pants."

Ten minutes later, we parked Big Blue outside Gioviccini's Market and hauled ourselves inside. for a late lunch. The store was bustling with the Saturday afternoon rush, elderly patrons and families alike filling their small handheld grocery baskets with breads, olives, salami, salads, and canned goods.

Leslie Gioviccini was behind the counter scooping macaroni salad into a container for old Mr. Geary. Mr. Geary was a hunched little old man who was about a hundred and ten years old. He'd lived in the Burg on Slater Street for years and was neighbors with my ex-boyfriend, Joe Morelli.

Leslie handed Mr. Geary his macaroni salad and noticed me in line.

"Oh my god Stef, how's it going?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron. "How's Joe?"

Mr. Geary turned to look at me, his curiosity peaked.

I'd known Joseph Anthony Morelli my entire life. We both had grown up in the Burg, him two grades ahead of me in school. He'd taken my virginity at sixteen, and I ran over him with my father's Buick at eighteen. Morelli was a slimy kid and teen, but he'd grown into a fairly respectable man after a short stint in the Navy. He'd held down a job as a cop, and he lived in a house he inherited from his Aunt Rose. For a long time, he was my boyfriend. Joe and I broke off our on-again, off-again relationship for good a few weeks ago. Before we could catch our breath, I'd gone out of town to Atlanta on a job for Rangeman, and Joe got shot three times on duty responding to a domestic call.

Joe had taken two bullets to the lung and one in the head. Miraculously he'd survived his injuries and had recently been released to his own home, but he faced a long road to recovery. His speech had been affected by the bullet he'd taken to his head, his thoughts slowed and his movements awkward. He'd been doing intensive therapy, his family providing nearly round-the-clock care. His prognosis for recovery was decent, but it sounded like his career as a cop was over. Despite breaking off our relationship, I'd dropped in to see him several times to check his progress. Even if we weren't together, Joe was still one of my closest friends. We'd been through too much together to walk away without a friendship.

"He's doing okay," I shared. "His mom is still spends a lot of time at his house, but his speech and mobility seem to be improving."

"Tell him we're praying for him at mass," Mr. Geary said before shuffling away.

Leslie put her hand to her heart. "Thank god he's doing better. There are too few eligible bachelors in the Burg as it is. It'd be a shame to see such a fine man become permanently damaged goods. What can I get you ladies?"

I let Leslie's words roll around in my head while Lula ordered a salami sub, a bologna sub, a tub of potato salad, a tub of coleslaw, and a tub of macaroni salad. Were women really so shallow to see him as damaged? He was a good man and a thoughtful partner. On the other hand, I wasn't sure I wanted to see him move on just yet. It might hurt.

I shoved the feelings away before ordering a salad with shaved turkey, praying I could zip my jeans tomorrow.

I stood in my bedroom with clothes strewn on every surface. Piles of skirts, dresses, trousers, sweaters, and blouses littered the bed, chair, and dressers. Shoes covered the floor. I was tugging on the eighty-fifth outfit I'd tried on in the past two hours when I heard the locks on my door tumble.

I stuffed my feet into a pair of heeled navy strappy sandals and looked at myself in the mirror.

My makeup was flawless. My hair was tamed into soft, brown curls. My nose was a gift from God. And the outfit sucked. Just like the eighty-four before it.

I heaved a sigh, pulling off the navy polka dot wrap shirt I'd been wearing being careful not to wreck my hair.

From the doorway, I heard a soft, amused, "Babe."

I flung the blouse onto the bed and turned to face Ranger wearing a black lacy bra, khaki knee-length skirt, and the sandals. Bob, my huge golden retriever, was doing his happy dog dance around Ranger's feet. I'd been babysitting Bob since I'd returned from our Rangeman job in Atlanta working the Publix Atlanta Marathon. Joe had been Bob's primary guardian, but he'd been unable to care for him since he'd been shot. As a result, Bob was bunking in Hotel Plum until further notice.

"Pretty," he said smirking, "but it would look better on the floor." Ranger scratched Bob behind his ears, the dog leaning into his hip affectionately.

Ricardo Carlos Manoso, otherwise known as Ranger, is an entrepreneur and the owner of an elite security firm called Rangeman. I'd first met Ranger when I began working for my cousin Vinnie. Ranger taught me the ropes of being a bond enforcement agent. He bought me my first gun and taught me to shoot it. He taught me to track skips, and sometimes had helped me during takedowns. I've done some contract work for Rangeman on the side, and in return, Ranger keeps me safe from everyone but himself. Over the years, our relationship turned into more. He began stealing kisses and caresses, taking me to his bed when Morelli and I were in an 'off' phase. Very recently, we formalized our relationship. Calling him my 'boyfriend' seemed inadequate because boyfriend implied non-permanent commitment, but terms like 'partner' seemed too sterile. We'd kept our relationship mostly under wraps, with me only sharing the information with Lula and Connie, and Ranger only telling several colleagues at Rangeman.

I sighed again, placing my hands on my hips.

"I have nothing to wear," I pouted.

"Looks to me like you could clothe an entire third world county," Ranger said, gesturing toward the heaps of clothes on the bed.

I finally took a minute to study his outfit. I was shocked to find him in black cargo shorts, a black t-shirt, and black Nike tennis shoes. His brown skin announced his Latino heritage, his dark hair cut shorter than normal. His muscled body was nearly six feet of perfection.

"You're wearing that?" I accused.

"What's wrong with this?"

I threw my hands into the air. "It's shorts and a t-shirt."

"Babe. It's dinner with my parents, not the Pope. Wear something comfortable."

I let out an exasperated sigh and fell backwards onto the bed, letting my hair fan out around my head.

"Give your parents my regrets. Tell them I got sick, and I'm really sorry," I whined, closing my eyes and willing Ranger to go away. This entire 'meet the parents' predicament was an anxiety attack. My nerves were shot.

I heard his uneven gait as he ambled toward the bed. Moments later, I felt a garment land on my exposed stomach.

"Wear this," he said, an amused tone in his voice.

I open my eyes and held the garment in front of my face. It took me a moment to figure out what I was seeing. He'd tossed me a black lace negligee, tags still attached. The garment was almost entirely see-through. I blushed from my hairline to my toes.

I swallowed hard at the mental picture I conjured of me showing up to a backyard barbeque in the garment.

Ranger's laughter was infectious as he tore the garment out of my hands, laying it on the nightstand.

"We'll save that for later," he said, flashing me a huge grin.

He began sorting through the piles of clothes around the room, coming up with a simple periwinkle blouse. It was cotton and short sleeved with a modest v-neck and cap sleeves.

"Wear this with your skirt," he said, tossing me the blouse.

I pulled myself to my feet and tugged on the shirt. I stood in front of the mirror and scrunched up my nose.

"Really?" I asked.

"Really," he said, passing me a pair of tan Birkenstocks sandals with a toe strap. "It complements your eyes."

I couldn't suppress my smile as I tugged off the strappy sandals and slid into the Birks. We'd been a couple less than a month, and I was still adjusting to Ranger-the-boyfriend.

I checked myself in the mirror one last time and reapplied my lip gloss.

"Babe, we need to go. We've got an hour drive," Ranger said from the doorway.

Satisfied with my lips, I dropped the lip gloss in my messenger bag, shouldered it, and headed out of the bedroom.

I was surprised to find a glass vase filled with white lilies on my kitchen counter next to Rex. An envelope was displayed on the countertop next to the flowers, and a set of car keys was next to it.

I swallowed hard, raising one eyebrow at Ranger in question.

"Flowers for our first official date," he explained.

In instructed my body to keep my mouth closed, but I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped with the romantic gesture. Who knew Batman was a flowers guy?

I shifted my attention to the other items sitting with the vase. "And?"

"The car you agreed I could select for you."

I swallowed hard.

"And?"

"Your paycheck from the Atlanta job."

I had to admit, the paycheck was a relief. Rent was due, I'd maxed out my credit card, and my cable had been shut off the day before. I'd been bringing in skips right and left since I returned from Atlanta, but none of them had been high bonds. I still had a pile of more than thirty files to clear, and it looked like my next day off would be in 2030.

I pulled a knife from the drawer and used it to open the envelope. A simple black note was enclosed with silver embossed letters reading "THANK YOU" across the front. I opened the card and removed the folded check so I could read the note. I was surprised when the handwriting wasn't Ranger's.

_Stephanie,_

_Thank you for your hard work and extreme dedication to Rangeman Atlanta. Enclosed you will find the pay for your time in Atlanta. The check includes regular pay plus hazard pay. An additional merit bonus was also added for your courage in the face of extreme danger and adversity. It was my honor to work with you. I hope you'll be part of our team in the future._

_Cordially,_

_Eric _

I swallowed hard, trying to choke back my emotions. It really was a nice thank you note. I closed the card and set it on the counter before unfolding the check. My eyes almost rolled out of my head when I saw the amount.

$15,000.

My shocked eyes met with Rangers, and he gave me a confused look.

"What?" he asked.

"This can't be right," I said, dumbfounded.

"May I?" he asked, extending his hand toward the check.

I handed it to him, and he studied the attached pay stub.

"Everything looks to be in order," he said, folding it and handing it back to me.

I unfolded it again and studied the stub.

"I didn't work all these hours. There is no way this is right. Rangeman got… I don't know, maybe a day of labor out of me. How am I getting paid for a week?"

"You spent days guarding my body in the hospital. And you get paid for your travel time too. And merit-based pay is at the discretion of the field office superior. Eric must have thought you earned it," Ranger explained. "If you think there is an error with your check, you'll need to take it up with Eric. It looks correct though."

I swallowed hard again and tucked the check into my messenger bag.

"Okay," I said on a whisper. I turned my attention to the car keys, surprised to find they didn't belong to a Porsche. Instead, a Toyota symbol was prominently displayed on the back of the key pad.

"I know you said you liked your Corolla," Ranger explained, "so I tried to find something similar. Would you like to drive it to Newark to test it out?"

I quietly nodded my assent.

"Would you like to take Bob?" Ranger asked, gesturing toward the massive, hairy, golden beast at his feet.

"Really?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"Sure," Ranger said. "If he's with us, he isn't eating your couch. And my parents love dogs."

Ranger clipped Bob's leash to his collar, and we quietly locked up the apartment.

Ranger's leg was still weak and healing from the Atlanta Marathon bombing, so we took the elevator to the first floor before shuffling into the parking lot. His gait was uneven but improving by the day. I hit the "unlock" button on the Toyota keypad, and scanned the parking lot for the car that chirped in response.

I was surprised to find a sage green Toyota Camry parked several spots away. It wasn't the most recent model, but it wasn't old either. The sunroof was cracked.

"It's not black," I said.

The corner of Ranger's mouth crooked up.

"It's your car, babe. Not mine."

I walked to the driver's door and opened it, examining the interior. The car was equipped with tan leather heated seats, hands-free phone capabilities, and a touch screen.

It was a really nice car. Too nice for my budget.

"It's a really great car, but I'm not sure it's in my price range," I explained, sliding into the driver's seat.

Ranger loaded Bob into the back seat.

"It's a 2015 Camry with over 100,000 miles," Ranger said, sliding awkwardly onto the passenger's seat. "It's high mileage, but it's a nice, reliable car at a reasonable price."

Bob snuffled at the seats, circled, and flopped onto his side. Bob approved of the new wheels.

He pulled paperwork out of the glove box and handed it to me. I studied it, and my anxiety eased as I realized the car had been sold through the police impound auction. The receipt was for $4,143.

"Really? That's all you paid?" I said, disbelieving.

"I was hoping it was in your budget," Ranger said, shrugging. "If it's too much, we can work out a payment plan or find something different—"

Before he could finish, I wrapped my arms around him in a huge bear hug.

"Thank you," I said, burying my nose in his neck to breathe in his intoxicating scent. "I love it."

"Babe," he said, rubbing my back and kissing my temple.

In Ranger speak, _babe _can mean many things. In this instance, I interpreted it to mean, "You're welcome."

I adjusted the seat and steering wheel before driving my new wheels out of the lot toward Newark. "How was your day?" I asked as we pulled onto the highway.

Ranger gave a single nod. I took that to mean, "My day was fine." He sat in silence.

Ever since Ranger was injured in Atlanta, he'd been off duty. His days were filled with appointments, physical therapy, and resting. He hadn't been cleared to drive yet, so his Merry Men drove him when needed. I knew he'd been sneaking peeks at his e-mail and browsing contracts when he felt up to it, but he'd been relatively quiet all things considered. Ranger had good days and bad days. On good days, his limp was hardly noticeable and he was sharp as a tack. On his bad days, he was slow to find his words and grew tired easily. Despite his best efforts to conceal his discomfort, his body language revealed the truth behind his stoic exterior. I'd spent some time researching concussions online, learning it could take months or longer to recover. His recovery time didn't bother me, but I knew he grew frustrated with being cooped up in his apartment.

"What did you do?" I asked, digging for more information.

"Appointments."

Since this line of questioning didn't seem like a welcome conversation, I changed the subject.

"Who brought you by tonight?" I asked.

"Tank. Ram drove your car."

Silence. Ranger stared out the windshield, worry lines creasing his forehead.

I could tell something was bothering him, but he didn't seem like he wanted to talk. I turned the radio on softly, tuning it to a local popular music station and drove with silence between us.

As we pulled into Newark, Ranger began giving me directions to his parents' house. He directed me onto a northbound highway, then grew silent again. Lines of worry creased his forehead and the corners of his eyes.

"What's wrong?" I asked, glancing over at him. "I can see something is eating you up."

His eyes met mine, and he reached across the console to take my hand in his. The corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly in a sad smile.

"I'm nervous about introducing you to my parents," Ranger confessed.

I laughed nervously. "Really?"

"It's not something I've done much in my life. It's nothing to be taken lightly," Ranger explained, stroking the back of my hand. "The first woman I introduced them to was Rachel. She was also the last."

Rachel Martine was Ranger's ex-wife and the mother of his only child, Julie. Rachel was a few years younger than Ranger and lived in Florida with her husband, Ron, who had adopted Ranger's only daughter, Julie. Ranger had married Rachel to support her during their unplanned pregnancy, but the arrangement had not been intended to be permanent. They divorced shortly after Julie's birth. Their relationship was amicable, but for the most part, he stayed out of Julie and Rachel's lives.

"Are you afraid they won't like me," I asked, genuine concern blooming.

"Not at all," explained Ranger. "I think they'll love you. I'm not used to having familial expectations attached to my relationships."

A long, pregnant pause sat between us.

"Babe?" Ranger asked, glancing at me.

"Yeah?" I asked, meeting his sad eyes.

"Before you meet her, you need to know that my mother is not well," he explained.

I worried my bottom lip between my front teeth, my mind shifting to a conversation I'd had in Atlanta with Ranger's cousin, Ximena.

_Carlos's mom is undergoing chemotherapy treatments for colon cancer. Her prognosis isn't great. He's taking it really hard. He's buying her the finest treatment money can buy, but sometimes it isn't enough._

I debated acknowledging that I had knowledge of the situation, but decided against it. I wanted Ranger to tell me on his terms.

"I'm sorry," I said, holding Ranger's hand tightly in mine. "Is there anything I can do?"

Ranger shook his head, then directed me to make a turn. The scenery around me was changing. Small businesses had signs in English and Spanish. The neighborhood wasn't the ghetto, but it wasn't quaint and cute, either. It was a blue collar, working class neighborhood—one very much like the Burg.

"My mom has cancer," he explained. "She and my father are having a hard time. Please don't tell them about what happened in Atlanta. I haven't told them. They don't need the stress."

I nodded in agreement, understanding a child's desire to protect his or her parents from the truth. I did my best to keep my career from my parents too. Sure, they heard about a lot of what happened, but not all of it.

Ranger had visibly relaxed with his thoughts off his chest as he directed me to park in his parents' driveway. The concrete of the drive was way past its prime, large cracks crisscrossing its span with tufts of grass pushing through them. The home was a modest orange brick ranch style home with a one car attached garage. Well maintained boxwood and evergreen shrubs lined the battered sidewalk that led to the door.

"Home sweet home," Ranger said, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.

An older man stood in the screen doorway as we climbed out of my Camry. His caramel colored skin was smooth and stood out in contrast to the white polo shirt he wore. He finished the ensemble with khaki shorts and penny loafers. His salt and pepper hair was cut into a classic pompadour. He looked to be slightly younger than my parents, maybe late fifties. He was extraordinarily good looking for an older gentleman, and it was abundantly clear where Ranger scored his good luck. When Ranger made eye contact with him, the man's face broke into a beaming smile. He descended the stairs, meeting him on the sidewalk.

"¡Hola, Carlito!" said the man, standing in front of Ranger.

I grabbed Bob from the back seat, wrapping his leash around my hand before closing and locking the car. Bob did a happy dog dance on the sidewalk, wiggling his butt up to Ranger.

"¡Hola, papÍ!" said Ranger, giving his father a warm hug. They did some back slapping and exchanged some words in Spanish before breaking the hug to turn their attention to me.

"Papí, this is my beautiful Stephanie," Ranger said, gesturing in my direction. "Stephanie, this is my father, Roberto."

"It is so grand to meet you," Roberto cooed with a thick accent, extending his hand to me. I placed my hand in his, and he kissed the back. "It is not often we get to meet women who associate with Carlos. It is truly my pleasure."

"It's nice to meet you," I said, unsure how to match the enthusiasm of his kind welcome.

"And beautiful she is," said Roberto to his son, winking.

I felt a scarlet scald start to climb from under my collar.

"She reminds me of your mother when she was young."

"Where is mamí?" Ranger asked, glancing to the door.

"She is on the patio waiting for you," said Roberto, pointing us in the direction of the from door. "Come, we have much to talk about."

Never one to be ignored, Bob bounded up to Roberto and shoved his nose into his butt.

"Sorry," I said, dragging Bob away. "The dog has no manners. This is Bob," I introduced.

Roberto turned to me laughing, a joyful sparkle in his eye. He knelt on one knee, ruffling Bob's ears. "It is sure nice to meet you, Bob."

Bob gave Roberto a wet kiss on his face, and he broke into more laughter. "Come, we have a yard you'll enjoy," he said to Bob, leading the way.

We ascended the short staircase and shuffled through the house. The home was small but comfortable. A hallway ran down the middle of the house, with rooms on each side. The home was decorated in a warm but eclectic style, with photographs intermingled with colorful tapestries and vivid, colorful artwork. We walked to the back of the house, where a sliding glass door led to a small patio in the back yard. A charcoal grill was lit, cooking delicious smelling food. A white outdoor table that seated eight was centered on the patio, circled with chairs with bright, striped cushions. The table was set with disposable Chinet plates and colorful paper napkins. Colored plastic bowls of various side dishes lined the center of the table. I let Bob off his leash, and he ran into the grassy yard, snuffling for a place to tinkle.

"¡Mamí!"

I turned to see Ranger crossing the grass to a pair of reclining patio chaise lounge chairs. One seat was empty. The other contained a small woman wrapped in a red and yellow floral quilt. She wore a red crocheted hat on her head, her sandaled feet and frail hands peeking out from the blanket.

"¡Carlito!" she responded. "How I've missed you."

Ranger bent to gently embrace his mother. She closed her eyes, a look of pure joy crossing her delicate features. He held her for a long moment, rubbing her back.

"I've missed you too, mamí. How are you feeling?"

"Old," she responded, winking at him. "You should come around more. What have we here?" she asked, shifting her attention to me.

"Mama, this is my Stephanie," Ranger responded. Ranger closed the distance between us, taking my hand to draw me forward toward his mother. I gave her a small smile and a finger wave as he wrapped his arm around my waist. "Steph, this is my mother, Mariposa."

"Hi," I said, unsure what to say. "It's nice to meet you."

She gave me an assessing look from head to toe, her face devoid of emotion. Apparently Ranger's blank face was genetic.

"Hello, Stephanie. Thank you for coming today. When are you due?"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: As always, everything familiar belongs to Janet Evanovich. I'm not making money, just playing around.

"Due?" I choked in open mouthed horror.

"Mamí!" Ranger scolded. "Stephanie is not pregnant."

"Why else would you bring her here?" Mariposa asked, her face showing disapproval. "We never even met your prom dates, Carlito."

Frankly, I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. I definitely wasn't pregnant. In fact, Aunt Flow was in town.

"Ma'am, I'm really not pregnant," I said, extending my hand to her. "Ranger invited me to come meet you. I hope that was okay."

She clasped my hand in her hers. It was cold and clammy, her skin paler than I suspected it should have been. She studied my features for a long moment before she gave me a smirk.

"So you're his… girlfriend?" she asked, her voice hopeful.

"I suppose you could say that," I said, giving her a smile.

"I've known Stephanie a long time, mamí," Ranger explained. "We've worked together. We're friends. We've been seeing one another for some time now. She's very special, so I hope you'll treat her with respect."

With that, Mariposa's face broke into a wide, toothy smile.

I couldn't help it. I smiled in response.

She shoved herself to her feet, dropping her quilt to expose the blue jeans and white sweatshirt that hung from her rail thin body. She was shorter than I was by a few inches. She pulled me to her with a firm tug, wrapping her arms around my body. I put my arms around her, too.

"Gracias a dios que te encontró," she said over and over again in my ear.

After an uncomfortably long moment had passed, Ranger spoke.

"Don't run her off, mom."

A musical laugh escaped from her as she released me, her attention turning to Ranger. "Thank you!" she exclaimed, pulling him into an embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, and she was lost in his embrace.

We headed for the table to eat, Roberto bringing a platter with burgers to the table. We made our plates and settled into easy conversation. Ranger's parents asked about my life, so I told them about my family, growing up in Trenton, and my job. I also told them about my hamster, Rex.

Bob fell in love with Ranger's mom while we ate, keeping his head in her lap while she picked at her dinner. She snuck him pieces of her hamburger, and he was happy to oblige her by eating it.

"Aren't you hungry, mom?" Ranger asked.

"No," she said, shaking her head.

"You have to eat," he admonished. I could tell he was concerned.

She obediently took a bite, then shared another bite with Bob.

"The chemo has really taken it out of her this time," Roberto shared. "They want to take her in for surgery as soon as possible."

"Surgery?" Ranger said, pausing with a bite on his fork halfway to his mouth.

"Colectomy," Roberto said.

Ranger put his fork down on his plate and closed his eyes, his mouth tightening.

"It's our best option at this point," he explained.

"I want to get it scheduled, Carlos," his mother said, feeding Bob a potato chip. "I know it's not what we wanted, but I want to have a fighting chance. I want to be around to watch mís nietos grow up. Maybe to see you and Stephanie have niños."

Ranger sat back in his seat, folding his hands in his lap. A dark look clouded his face, but he gave his consent by nodding.

"Furthermore," said Roberto, "we think the time has come to move. This home is too large to keep up with for only two of us. Celia has home large enough to host the family here in Newark, so we're considering a retirement apartment or a small duplex nearby."

We left Newark with hugs and a promise to return soon as the sun dropped below the horizon. Ranger was quiet in the passenger seat as I drove down the interstate to Trenton. He looked exhausted with dark circles beneath his eyes. Bob slept in the back seat, snoring.

"I can't believe your mother thought I was pregnant," I said, breaking the silence.

"Babe." Ranger gave me a smirk.

"Where do you want me to drop you?"

"You can take me to Haywood, or I'd stay with you," Ranger responded, leaving the choice to me.

I drove to my apartment complex, where we parked and let Bob tinkle in the grass. We took the elevator to the second floor, where Ranger did a quick walk through of my apartment before starting a bedtime routine. While he brushed his teeth, I fed Rex and took a survey of the cupboards. No coffee for morning. Mental head slap. We should have stayed at Ranger's apartment.

I sat down at my table, where my laptop was set up. As I began checking my e-mails, Ranger came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but boxers. I could see his fresh pink scars in stark contrast to his caramel brown skin, their edges puckered.

"Are you planning to stay up?" Ranger asked.

"No, I'm pooped. I've got a few more e-mails, then I'll get ready for bed."

"I'll be waiting," he said with so much innuendo my panties almost burst into flames.

Bob ambled into the bedroom with Ranger, and I quickly busied myself with my bedtime routine. I brushed my teeth, removed my makeup, ran a comb through my hair, and freshened up a bit. I checked the locks on my door and shut off the lights in my kitchen and living room. To my surprise when I walked in the bedroom, Ranger was fast asleep in my bed. I turned off the bedroom light and climbed into bed, half expecting Ranger to wake. He didn't, so I snuggled in to get some sleep. Ranger needed sleep to heal his brain and his body. Plus, with my giant list of FTAs, tomorrow was bound to be a long day even if it was a Sunday.

I woke with a start as my cell phone rang. Early morning sunshine was filtering through my curtains. I ripped the charging cord out of the base and answered with a hushed, "Hello?"

"Stephanie Plum? This is Mrs. Grizzard, Mario's neighbor. I was calling to let you know that his mother just stopped by his house with a coffeecake, and he let her in…"

"I'm on my way," I said, shimmying into dirty jeans. "Thank you!"

I disconnected and shoved my feet unceremoniously into tied sneakers.

"Babe?" Ranger mumble.

"Skip! Gotta go! Be back soon!" I shouted, tearing out my bedroom door.

"Be careful!" Ranger shouted from the bed.

I threw my messenger bag over my shoulder, grabbed my keys, and raced out of my apartment building. I was momentarily disoriented as I looked for my car, expecting to see Big Blue in the lot. I was pleased when I remembered the Camry. I tore out of the lot and pointed my wheels in the direction of Mario Silvas's neighborhood.

I made it to the house in record time, parking at the curb behind a candy apple red Mercury Grand Marquis. A handicapped parking sticker hung from the rear-view mirror, and a bumper sticker proudly announced, "My dachshund is smarter than your honor student." I assumed this had to be Mrs. Silvas's car. I shoved my hand into my bag, pulling out apprehension papers, cuffs, and a tube of pepper spray. I jumped out of the car and raced to the door of the one-story, modest brick ranch-style home. I pounded on the door with my fist.

"Bond enforcement," I announced. "Open up."

Silence.

"Open up, Mario. This has gone on long enough." I pounded on the door some more.

More silence. I began to turn back to my car when I heard the door open.

"Yes?" a small, frail looking woman asked. She appeared to be at least ninety, wearing red, square plastic frame glasses and a red shift dress. Her small feet were shoved into red flats and almost hidden beneath her puffy, old lady ankles.

"Bond enforcement," I said, lifting my apprehension papers to eye-level. "I'm here for Mario."

"I'm sorry dear, but not today," the woman said. "He has breakfast with me every Sunday. He can't go now." She began to push the door closed, but I had my foot in the doorframe.

"You see, I've been trying to talk to Mario for a while now. It's really important I speak with him."

I gave the door a substantial push, and I was in the house. The older woman didn't have the strength to keep me out.

"Mario!" the woman squawked. "Run!"

I made eye contact with Mario, and two seconds later, he was on his feet and running for the back door.

I scrambled through the cluttered house, knocking over kitchen chairs and an end table as I made for the back door.

"I'm going to tell your mother!" Mrs. Silvas shouted behind me, her voice quavering with age.

I was just steps from the back door when I felt something sharp tear through my pants and into my leg, causing me to cry out. I grabbed the door frame to stop my momentum and saw that a small black and tan dachshund had its teeth locked into my leg. It was growling and unrelenting.

I felt the adrenaline rush into my veins and tried to get the dog off by shaking my leg. Then I used my other leg to kick it. It continued biting, and my pain was intensifying.

"That's not nice, Coco," said the old woman, coming closer.

Without thinking, I ripped the pepper spray from my pocket and sprayed the dog. The dog howled, unlatching from my leg. I lurched out the door, slamming it before the dog or the woman could follow.

I saw Mario's retreating form circling the corner of the house. I darted after him, trying to close the gap. I rounded the corner of the house, then into the front yard. He was headed toward the garage in his sock feet, plaid pajama pants, and blue t-shirt. He was fast for a guy in his sixties, but I was gaining ground.

Without warning, a black Range Rover SUV tore into the driveway, blocking the garage. Mario changed course, turning back for the front door—and straight for me. I bent at the waist, putting my shoulder into his gut and knocking him onto his back.

"Bond enforcement!" I announced, trying to catch my breath.

Mario lay on the ground, huffing and moaning. I got to my knees and cuffed his hands in front of him.

"Nice, chica," a voice said from behind me. "I finally got to see the one and only Stephanie Plum in action."

I turned and saw Ximena standing by the black SUV. She was wearing skinny blue jeans, black Nike tennis shoes, and a black Rangeman t-shirt.

Ximena was Ranger's cousin. She was about my size and beautiful, with dark hair and a Latinx complication. I first met her on our job in Atlanta, and we'd become fast friends. She had recently moved to Newark to open a Rangeman branch there, but because there was no established branch office in Newark yet, she frequently commuted back and forth to Trenton for business. Not only was Ximena a well-trained security expert and ex-military woman, she was trained as a nurse practitioner.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, still breathing heavily.

"Carlos put in a call to the control room, and I was in the neighborhood," she explained, crossing to us. She helped me to my feet, then pulled a key for the cuffs out of her pocket. She undid the cuffs, rolled Mario onto his stomach, and cuffed him again behind his back. "You want help loading him into your car, or you want me to help you get him downtown? We can take my car."

I considered my options.

"Let's load him in your car, but can I follow you in my car? I don't need his mom keying my new ride."

"Sure thing," she said, hoisting Mario to his feet. A dark look crossed her face. "Oh my god, chica! You're bleeding."

"What?" I asked, caught off guard. I assessed myself, seeing my leg was bleeding through my jeans. "Oh, the dog bit me. I had to pepper spray him."

"That dog is a mean little bastard," Mario puffed as Ximena shuffled him toward the car. "My mom calls him my 'baby brother.' That's not right."

"I need to take a look at your leg," said Ximena. "Let's get him downtown, then I'll fix you up."

An hour later, we were back at my apartment. I had a body receipt for Silvas, Ximena had her medical kit opened to treat my dog bite, and Ranger had a look on his face that could freeze water. Ximena and I had donuts and fancy Starbucks coffee drinks. Ranger was drinking black coffee.

"You shouldn't have gone in alone," Ranger scolded.

"You sent backup. Everything was fine," I explained, sucking in air as Ximena cleaned my wound. I sat my counter, my pants rolled up above my knee.

"It's not fine!" Ranger boomed, slamming his fists into the countertop, causing Ximena and I to jump. "I should have been there to back you up."

"Settle down, Rambo," Ximena teased. "She's going to be fine. Some ointment and a dressing, and she'll be good as new."

Ranger continued as if Ximena hadn't spoken. "Babe, you need a partner."

"I've got Lula," I explained, crossing my arms. "It was just too early to call her this morning."

"Lula is worse than no partner at all," Ranger seethed, his eyes dark and angry. "Lula is a prostitute-turned-file-clerk. You need a capable, reliable partner. Rangeman can provide a partner for you."

"I'm fine," I said, studying the large dressing on my leg before rolling my torn and bloodied jeans down. "I'll be more careful next time."

"I'd like to hire you on at Rangeman full-time," said Ranger, his face firm with resolve.

I choked on my French vanilla latte, dribbling some out of my mouth onto my shirt. Ximena gave Ranger the side-eye as she packed her bag.

I slid off the counter to my feet. I assumed I'd need to take this conversation standing.

"You'll earn an annual salary with full benefits in addition to financial bonuses when you bring in skips as contract work for Vincent Plum. If your cousin isn't going to do what's necessary to protect you in your job, I will."

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no," I chided. "We've been down this path before. My working for you never ends well. I'm an incompetent moron, and I cost you a fortune. I don't want to be coddled because I'm sleeping with the boss man."

"La, la, la," Ximena sing-shouted, covering her ears. "I'm not hearing this." She slung her backpack over her shoulder and grabbed her coffee. "I'll catch you later, Steph," she said, flipping Carlos the bird. I knew Ranger would never tolerate that level of disrespect from anyone else, but somehow his female cousin could get by with it. Some things never ceased to amaze me.

"Wait," said Ranger, grabbing the top handle of Ximena's backpack before she could bolt out of the kitchen for the door. "You were very competent in Atlanta as a temporary hire," Ranger explained. "Stephanie, I want you to be Ximena's assistant as she prepares to open the new branch of Rangeman in Newark."

"WHAT?!" we both responded in unison, the shock obvious.

"You've been trained in business," explained Ranger. "You know a good deal about this company. You can help Ximena identify a building for the new office, assist with contracts, and help her here in Trenton when she's working remotely in Newark. Plus, you're a great judge of character. You can help with staffing. When she's back in town, she can help you pick up skips. When she's gone, I'll send you with Lester."

Lester Santos was Ximena's brother and Ranger's first cousin. He was also an employee of Rangeman. His Latino good looks earned him plenty of attention from the ladies, and he was as big of a player as they come at Rangeman. Despite these shortcomings, he was good at his job.

"I'd love to work with you, Steph, but I don't think it's fair for your asshole boyfriend to pressure you in to this," she explained, trying to pull away from Ranger's grip while making rude hand gestures.

Ranger and I had recently come to an understanding about letting him 'help' me… Help being loosely defined. I'd always been resistant to help, especially for fear it came at a sexual price. Now that we were in a monogamous, committed relationship, the price didn't seem nearly as steep. I'd let him pay for dog sitting. I'd let him select a car for me. I'd let him buy my groceries on several occasions. It was new and different, but it wasn't bad. Ranger had made it perfectly clear that he wanted me to remain my independent, scrappy, non-conforming self through all of this. That admission gave me a new lens through which to view his offers of assistance, and it softened the blow significantly.

I let the thought of being a full-time Rangeman employee roll around in my head. Sure, the job had its perks-a regular income, health insurance benefits, and a steady stream of black, shiny cars for starters. But working for Ranger was also dangerous when he had also become a permanent fixture in my bed and in my heart. Mixing business and pleasure was never a good idea.

"I'm not…. Opposed to working for Rangeman," I said, choosing my words carefully. "I'm just… not comfortable… with you being my boss anymore." I let a small sigh escape. "I'm sorry, Ranger."

"No problem," he said, releasing his grip on Ximena and straightening. "Ximena will be your direct supervisor until Newark is up and running. Then we'll find you a permanent partner in Trenton, and we'll figure out a different supervisory structure."

Ximena's face broke into a massive grin, and she extended her hand in my direction for a high-five. I cautiously obliged without much gusto.

"What about Lula?" I asked hesitantly.

"She can ride along on occasion," said Ranger. "But she can't take her gun."

That condition didn't give me pause at all. "Deal."

I found myself in my mother's kitchen later that morning. Ranger had returned to the Rangeman building to review contracts, so I was doing my typical Sunday activities. My mother and grandmother had attended mass, returning home with donuts from Tasty Pastry. My dad, ever predictable, was in his recliner watching the television. His eyes hadn't strayed from the television when I'd walked in the door.

"Hi daddy," I said, kissing him on the temple as I'd walked by.

"Hey," he'd grunted, holding his coffee cup in one hand and the remote control in the other.

My father was an average, blue collar Jersey guy of Italian heritage. He had retired from the postal service, but drove a cab part-time, likely to get away from the women in his life who made him crazy. When he wasn't at home or driving the cab, he was hanging out with his friends at the lodge. He never missed a baseball game on television, and he never missed a meal.

Our father-daughter relationship had taken on a warmer, more trusting quality since he'd stood up to my mother for the way she'd treated me while I was in Atlanta. I was not present for the conversation, but my dad let me know the situation "had been taken care of." Though he was a quiet man, my father could see through Ranger's tough guy exterior. While my mom saw a Latino gangster clad in black, my dad saw a stable man bringing in a steady income who was willing to care for and protect his baby daughter. What more could a Jersey dad ask for?

"How's the hottie?" Grandma Mazur asked, brushing the powdered sugar remnants of her donut off her red sweater.

My mother visibly cringed at Grandma's question.

My Grandma Mazur came to live with my mom and dad when Grandpa Mazur went to the never-ending all-you-can-eat Prime Rib Buffet in heaven. When Grandma moved in, the guns all conveniently disappeared—an act I have to assume was thanks to my mother. Grandma was somewhere around eighty but looked closer to ninety with her boney frame and loose, wrinkly skin. Gravity hadn't been kind to my grandma, leaving her resembling a Sphinx cat… if cats wore glasses and occasionally dyed their curly, old lady wigs purple. My mother and I were cut from the same cloth, having a similar size, frame, and build as Grandma, sans the gravitational effects. While grandma's hair was steely grey, my hair was curly and brown, and my mother's was the same with streaks of grey. My mother provided a sense of stability and respectability in the Plum household. The problem was that for every ounce of respectability my mother contributed, Grandma and I drained two each. We were both free spirits, living by our own set of rules and standards. I knew we often drove my mother to drink.

"He's great," I said, biting into a Boston crème. "He's doing a lot better with time and therapy," I said through my full mouth while sitting at the kitchen table.

My mother's kitchen always smells wonderful. Today was no exception, the smell of lasagna wafting from her oven. My mother's kitchen wasn't fancy, but it was practical, containing every baking dish, soup pot, pie plate, small appliance, and variety of knife a woman would ever need to make dinner for her family. My kitchen, on the other hand, contained one pot, one skillet, a toaster that worked if you held the short in the cord at the right angle, and a slow cooker I won once at bingo. On occasion, my kitchen even contained groceries. I wasn't going to be winning culinary awards anytime soon. Or ever.

"Stephanie, you should invite your boyfriend over for dinner tomorrow night," my mother said hesitantly, busying herself with tidying the kitchen. "I'm making a nice leg of lamb and chocolate cake. If he's going to be part of your life, I suppose we'll have to get to know him."

"Don't sound so excited, Helen," Grandma said, exasperated.

"He's been here for dinner before, mom," I said finishing my donut and eyeballing a second.

"Never as your boyfriend," my mother said. "I mean, what is his name? Surely his parents didn't name him Ranger. What is that supposed to mean?" she scoffed.

"Like an Army Ranger," I explained, biting into a jelly-filled donut. "It's his nickname. His parents named him Ricardo, but he goes by his middle name—Carlos."

"That's a nice name," my mother affirmed without much conviction. "Well, bring Carlos over tomorrow night at the usual time."

"I'll have to check with him first," I said, my chest filled with dread. Ranger had previous run-ins with the Plum women, including one unlucky time when Grandma managed to see him naked. I knew he didn't relish the thought of dinner in the same township as Grandma, lest at the same table. I assumed he would graciously decline. "I'll let you know."

"Have you gone to see Joseph?" my mother asked, wiping her hands on the dish towel.

"No," I said, hoping this could be the end of the conversation.

"He's having a tough time right now and could use a friend," my mom admonished. "I figured since I was making lasagna for lunch, I'd make him one too. Would you be a dear and take it to him in a bit?" my mother asked, her voice syrupy sweet.

My eyes rolled back so far in my head I saw my brain. I knew this was no coincidence. "Mom, I don't want to go over there. It's going to be awkward."

"Stephanie Michelle Plum, you are an adult. Start acting like it," my mother scolded, pulling a large pan of lasagna out of the oven and setting it on a cooling rack. "Imagine if roles were reversed. Joseph would come check on you." My mother pulled a second, smaller lasagna out of the oven and set it aside.

_Sure, he'd come check on me, _I thought. _He'd be looking to get laid. The Italian stallion. _

I let out an aggravated sigh of resignation, knowing my mother was going to win. As much as I dreaded going over there, I was anxious to see if Joe had made any progress in his recovery since I'd last seen him. Despite our romantic relationship not working out, I still cared for him as a friend. However, I had no plans to inform him of Ranger's and my relationship status. I also had no desire to tell him about the offer for full time employment I'd received from Rangeman only that day.

"Fine, but you owe me pineapple upside-down cake," I said, placing my palms down on the table and pushing myself into a standing position.

"Good girl," my mom said, covering the small pan of lasagna with foil. She handed me a pair of oven mitts, which I obediently stuffed my hands into before lifting the lasagna from the cooling rack and marching out the front door. "Get it over to Slater Street before it's cold."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: This is a sequel to my first novel-length story, "Plum Sweet". This story will make a lot more sense after reading its predecessor. As always, everything familiar belongs to Janet Evanovich. I simply enjoy creating new or different situations for her characters._

I parked the Camry on the street in front of Joe's house on Slater street and killed the engine. The driveway was empty, and the house appeared quiet. I considered the possibility that Joe wasn't home, but I knew if I didn't knock, my mother would have a fit. I shoved my cell phone in my back jeans pocket, adorned my hands in worn-out oven mitts, and grabbed the lasagna.

I knocked on the door and waited.

Nothing.

I peered in the sidelight window, and saw no lights on inside. I rang the bell, then knocked again.

Still nothing.

I pulled the screen door open and tried the knob. It turned, so I cracked the door.

"Joe? You home?"

A low voice, quiet responded from the living room. "Go away."

"That's not a very warm welcome," I responded, trying to lighten the mood. "I come bearing gifts." I stepped into the house and kicked off my shoes. I shuffled into the living room to assess the situation.

Joe lived in a comfortable house on Slater Street that used to belong to his aunt Rose. As time had passed, the space had become more and more his, the feminine accents being replaced by more masculine furnishings. It was comfortable for a single man with a living room, dining room, kitchen, and half bath downstairs, and three bedrooms and a bath upstairs. I had spent a lot of time here, and it felt familiar to be back in Joe's house.

I found him lying on the couch in the dark, quiet room wearing plaid boxer shorts and a stained white t-shirt. His head bandages had been removed, exposing bald patches on his head with several enormous, pink, bulging scars. His hair was wild, his dark Italian locks having grown out where it had once been shaved and his face was unshaven.

"Can I make you a plate of lasagna?" I asked, holding the pan out to him.

"No," he said coldly.

I waited for him to say something—anything. When he didn't speak, I shuffled into the kitchen and dumped the lasagna into the refrigerator. I assessed the situation—half a stick of butter, some milk past its expiration date, some orange juice, a jar of olives, and miscellaneous condiments. I checked the freezer next—only ice cube trays and an open tub of chocolate ice cream.

"I put the lasagna in the fridge for whenever you want it. Don't worry, my mom made it," I hollered into the living room. "It won't kill you. Joe, do you need me to run to the grocery store for you?"

Dirty dishes filled the sink, and the garbage was overflowing. Medicine bottles were strewn across the countertop with miscellaneous handwritten notes in Joe's mother's handwriting. The floor was grimy. It occurred to me that Joe's mom must not have been stopping by as frequently as she had been; she would never allow his house to get like this on her watch.

I pulled the trash from the can and tied up the bag, inserting a clean liner into the can. Stephanie Plum: Domestic Goddess.

I set the bag by the front door and wandered back into the living room.

"Can I get you anything, Joe? Lunch? Something to drink? Or can I grab you some things at the grocery store?" I asked.

Joe seemed to shrink into himself, his large masculine body appearing to shrink before my eyes.

"Just g-g…. go, Stephanie."

I considered my options.

I could follow his cue and leave. That would be the easy option.

I could call Joe's mom to request a welfare check. Sounded good in theory, but then I'd actually have to talk to Joe's mom. Nope.

I could stick around and try to figure out what was going on. That seemed annoying, but reasonable enough.

"Talk to me," I said, collapsing into an arm chair. "Are you okay?"

"I'm great, Steph," he said in a sarcastic tone.

I had no idea where to go from here. I'd never seen Joe like this. It was clear he wasn't 'great.'

"I'm worried about you, Joe. Has your mom been coming by?"

"I told her to go ho… home," Joe stuttered.

I considered that piece of information. Was he safe being home alone by himself?

"Why?" I asked, genuinely curious.

Joe lay quietly.

"Do you need me to clean up your kitchen, Joe? Or get you some groceries?"

"I said no, damn it!" Joe exploded, sitting up to face me. "I want you out."

I pulled up in front of my parents' house and turned off the car. I glanced in the rear-view mirror, examining my tear-filled eyes and red face. I blinked back the tears and fanned myself with my hand. I blasted the a/c, trying to calm and cool myself down. I was filled with a host of overwhelming emotions that I had no desire to unpack.

I ventured into the house and took my seat in the dining room. Mom and grandma were scurrying around, filling cups and setting silverware at each place.

"How was Joseph?" my mother asked, setting a tumbler of water in front of me.

"Fine," I said, fiddling with my place setting.

We ate lunch in relative silence, with grandma occasionally sharing a piece of Burg gossip. I topped off my lasagna with a piece of cherry pie, and I made a beeline for the door.

"Stephanie Michelle Plum, do not forget to bring your boyfriend for dinner tomorrow evening," my mother shouted from the kitchen as I closed the front door behind me.

I woke in my bed with a start as the pillow was lifted off my face.

"Babe."

I blinked into the late afternoon sun streaming in through my window.

"What is this? Torture Stephanie day?"

Ranger let out a small laugh. "Rough day?"

I sat up and pushed my unruly hair out of my face. "I'm just tired," I explained. "My mom invited you to dinner tomorrow night, by the way. But I didn't commit you to anything."

"Okay," Ranger said, taking a seat at the end of the bed. "Let's do it." He took one of my feet into his large, strong hands and started to rub it.

I let out a contented sigh and laid back on the bed. "I don't deserve you," I announced. "I can't believe you're going to willingly suffer through dinner with my crazy family."

The corner of Ranger's mouth tipped up ever-so-slightly. "They are part of the Stephanie Plum package. I can manage," he explained, moving to my other foot.

"Are you done with contracts for the day?"

Ranger nodded.

"Do you have plans for tonight?"

Ranger shook his head. "No. You?"

I thought about my options. I had a huge stack of files I should work on, but they would still be there tomorrow. I should clean my apartment, but I forgot to borrow my mother's vacuum at lunch time and was out of blue toilet-cleaning goop. I needed groceries, and I actually had money to buy them. That seemed like a reasonable thing to do on a Sunday evening.

"I need to get a few groceries. Other than that, no plans."

"Dinner at my place?" Ranger asked.

"Sure," I said, crawling out of bed. I tugged my hair into a scrunchie and shoved my feet into tied sneakers. "Do you want me to meet you later, or are you coming with me?"

Sunday evening was an unfortunate time to need groceries in Trenton, with the day being reserved for God, family meals, and football. Most grocery stores, including the Shop 'n Bag that I frequented, were closed, leaving few viable options. I parked the Camry in a primo parking spot at the Route 1 Wal-Mart, grabbed my messenger bag, and hauled myself out of the car.

"Let's roll, Batman," I joked, hitting the lock button on my car remote.

Ranger matched my stride, his gait uneven. We passed a woman, who gave Ranger a full body scan. I couldn't blame her; his tight black t-shirt, black cargo pants, and boots made him look like a hotter, less crazy Latino version of Rambo. I doubted Wal-Mart had many shoppers that looked like Ranger.

I grabbed a cart and headed straight for the grocery section.

"So, how is Morelli?" Ranger asked quietly as I placed a box of cereal in the cart.

My face must have registered surprise, because Ranger smirked at me. His annoying yet sometimes convenient habit of tracking my car strikes again.

"You can go over there, Steph," Ranger said. "I imagine he could use a friend now that he is off the force."

I swallowed hard.

"He's officially done?" I asked.

"Rumor has it they offered him a desk job when he's ready, but he turned them down."

"I can't see him doing that," I said, studying the endless shelf of cereal. "He always hated pushing paper." I grabbed a box of frosted shredded wheat and added it to my cart.

"He'd be a liability to the department on the street unless he manages a miraculously recovery. Since when do you eat that stuff?" Ranger asked, gesturing toward the cereal. "I thought you were more of a Lucky Charms girl."

"It's not for me," I said, pushing the cart in the direction of the cleaning aisle. "It's for Joe."

I told Ranger about my stop at Joe's house earlier that day as I filled the cart with toilet cleaner, toilet paper, paper towels, milk, beer, hot dogs, buns, bread, peanut butter, chips, coffee, and other miscellaneous items either Joe or I needed. "I'm not sure how to help him at this point. I'm not even sure if I want to help him," I grumbled.

Ranger gave me a long stare. "Babe, you're buying him groceries. You WANT to help him."

I scowled, causing Ranger to break into a huge smile.

"You're a good person, Babe. It's one of the many things I love about you."

At the drop of the "L" word, I felt my heart flutter around in my chest. I shot Ranger a smile, then dropped two bags of chocolate-covered gem donuts into the cart.

I knocked on Joe's door and let myself in without waiting for a response. Ranger followed me inside, each of us carrying a bag of groceries. I had Bob's leash around my wrist. I'd already dropped off my groceries at the apartment, and I'd brought Bob along, assuming we'd be staying with Ranger for the evening.

"Hey! Incoming!" I shouted, letting Bob off the leash and heading for the kitchen. Bob bolted for the living room, doing his happy-dog dance. "I got you groceries. I didn't want you to starve," I said playfully, but really only half joking.

Ranger deposited the bag of groceries onto the counter, taking in the mess in the kitchen. I thought I saw his brow furrow, but it was gone as fast as it had appeared, his blank, emotionless face plastered in place.

Without saying a word, Ranger began unloading the clean dishes from the dishwasher into cabinets and drawers.

"You don't have to do that," I said quietly.

Ranger shrugged, indifferent, and continued.

I began the task of unloading groceries. I dumped the spoiled milk down the drain and pitched the carton. I replaced it with the new milk and added hot dogs, cheese slices, shaved ham, a tub of potato salad, a tub of macaroni salad, and a six pack of beer to the refrigerator. I put some items in the pantry and placed bread items in the bread box, tossing out the moldy loaf.

"I thought I tol…. Told you to leave," I heard from behind me.

"You did," I said, turning to face Joe. He was still in his dirty white shirt and boxer shorts, leaning against the wall for stability. His face was angry. "But I came back."

"I noticed."

Having emptied the dishwasher, Ranger began loading the dirty dishes, quietly listening to the conversation.

"Felt the n…. n…. need to show off your new boyfriend?" Morelli asked, his tone dark.

My gut reaction was to deny the charge, but luckily my brain shut down the urge to get defensive. After all, he WAS my… boyfriend? I decided the best plan was to ignore the comment and change the subject.

"Bob was missing you. I hope it was okay I brought him over for a while," I said, busying myself with wiping down the countertops with a paper towel and cleaning spray.

"He can stay," Morelli growled.

I stopped dead in my tracks. I hadn't considered this. I'd enjoyed having Bob around lately.

Morelli gestured at Ranger. "He took my girl. He can't have m…. my dog," he stuttered. "Now get the fuck out." He turned and began walking toward the living room.

"I need to talk to you, Morelli."

Joe stopped and whipped around to face Ranger.

"The hell you d…. d…. do."

Ranger, having loaded the last dish in the dishwasher, loaded a dishwashing pod into the compartment, shut the door, and pushed the "go" button.

"This conversation is not optional," Ranger said, crossing the kitchen to stand at my side. "Would you please excuse us, Stephanie?"

Joe began speaking. "What kind of bull….?"

Before he could finish the statement, Ranger had shoved Morelli against the wall, his forearm at his neck.

"Ranger, wait…." I began.

"I don't care if all of Trenton thinks you're a brain-damaged, washed-up cripple," Ranger said, toe-to-toe with Joe. "I'm going to treat you, and talk to you, like a man. Miss Plum, please wait in the car. I'll be out shortly."

I nodded, my voice caught in my throat. I exited with a quiet, "Bye, Joe," crossing to the front door and out to the Camry.

I waited for more than twenty minutes before Ranger walked out of the house, his uneven gait striding down the sidewalk. He opened the door and slid into the seat next to me.

I stared at him, waiting for him to explain what the hell was going on.

"Babe."

My eyes rolled back so far in my head I saw my hair follicles.

"What the hell was that?" I exclaimed, my voice an octave too high.

"Tough love."

I opened my door and began climbing out of the car.

"Where are you going?"

"Back inside," I said, bending down to glance in the car. "You coming?"

"No need," Ranger said, buckling his belt. "He's fine."

I scowled. "I need to clean up a bit," I explained. "And I want Bob."

"Let's drive."

I pulled into the underground garage at Rangeman, and Ranger pointed me into a reserved parking spot next to his four designated spots. I noticed an additional reserved space had been added next to the one we were parked in. I raised my eyebrows, glancing at Ranger.

"You need parking when you're here," he explained. "And occasionally, all my spots are full."

"Two spots?"

"Personal vehicle and company car."

I swallowed hard.

"I haven't signed an offer letter or contract yet."

"Babe."

The lights were dim and the air was cool in Ranger's penthouse apartment. The place was immaculately decorated and extremely clean thanks to Ranger's housekeeper, Ella. The table was set with a salad, a bread basket, and two covered dishes. Ranger removed the lids to reveal seared tuna steaks, rice, and roasted vegetables. A small bowl of fruit and a piece of carrot cake were sitting nearby on the bar, which I assumed had to be dessert.

"Wow, this looks incredible," I said, salivating as I took a seat at the table. "Ella outdid herself."

"As usual," Ranger responded, taking a seat.

We tore into our dinner without much small-talk, an air of awkwardness sitting between us after the encounter with Joe. When my plate was clean, Ranger cleared the table, placing the dishes in the dishwasher. He returned, setting the bowl of fruit at his place and the cake in front of me.

"Thank you," I said, giving him a smile.

"Ella never misses an opportunity to bake for you," Ranger said. "What are your plans for tomorrow?"

"I'm not really sure," I admitted. "I have a bunch of open files for Vinnie. Do I have time to work to clear them before I start for you? Do I have a start date with Rangeman yet?"

"I can be flexible," Ranger said, stabbing a piece of pineapple with his fork. "Would you like more time to work for Vinnie? Do you want to implement a phased work arrangement?"

I considered my options. I didn't love working for Vinnie. As a boss, he was borderline abusive. He didn't support me as an employee, but he relied on me to keep his business running and to keep his hind-end out of hot water with his father-in-law. On the flip side, working as a bounty hunter was one of the few things I was good at. It made my heart race, and in some strange way, it filled my cup.

"What kind of phased arrangement did you have in mind? I feel kind of bad leaving Vinnie in a lurch."

Ranger looked thoughtful as he stabbed another piece of fruit. "If I could find a way to make you a full time Rangeman employee tomorrow while still allowing you to clear your pile of skips, would you?"

"Of course!" I blurted out.

Ranger smirked. "Okay. I'll have your paperwork ready tomorrow."


	4. Chapter 4

I woke in Ranger's heavenly bed to the smell of brewing coffee and Ranger stroking my hair.

"Morning, Babe."

"Ungh…. What time is it?" I said, pulling the covers up to my ears.

"Six thirty. I let you sleep as late as I could. Ximena needs to go through your contract and benefits paperwork with you before she leaves for Newark this morning."

My eyes shot open. Damn.

"Ella brought breakfast, and she has prepared a week's worth of uniforms for you. They're in the closet. Up and at 'em, badass," Ranger said, playfully slapping my blanket-clad butt and kissing my temple. "Welcome to Rangeman."

* * *

Wrapped in a towel, I stepped into Ranger's luxurious walk-in closet and saw that an entire section of his clothes had been replaced with a smaller, more feminine version of the black uniforms worn my Rangeman employees. I surveyed my black clothing options: three pairs of women's cargo pants, three pairs of dress slacks, three v-neck t-shirts with "Rangeman" embroidery, three dry-wick polo shirts with "Rangeman" embroidery, one suit jacket, one black pencil skirt, one black slinky camisole, one hooded sweatshirt, one quarter-zip pull-on sweater. I worried my bottom lip between my teeth as I slid open a drawer. It contained six pairs of black bikini underwear, three black lacy bras, a variety of black socks, and three black sports bras. The next drawer contained some black shorts and tank tops. On the floor, I had one pair of black CAT boots, one pair of black pumps, one pair of black ballet flats, and one pair of black Nike tennis shoes.

I heard Ranger at the closet door.

"It looks like Ella thought of everything," I said, glancing over my shoulder at him.

"She wanted to be sure you were taken care of," Ranger said, drying his hair with a towel. "Ximena will be here in a few minutes."

My stomach started feeling queasy. This was really happening. I was signing on full time at Rangeman. I swallowed hard.

"What do I need to wear today?" I asked, running my fingers across the various fabrics.

"Whatever you'd like. You're a bounty hunter today."

I nodded, selecting appropriate undergarments, a v-neck shirt, black cargo pants, and black boots. I dressed quickly, blasted my hair with the dryer, and applied light makeup. I studied myself in the bathroom mirror, silently thinking, _Well… this is as good as it is going to get._

A place had been set for me at the bar with a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and turkey sausage. I poured myself a cup of coffee and dug into breakfast. Ranger was sitting at the table, typing into his laptop. I was surprised to see him in black work fatigues and boots.

"Are you working today?" I asked.

"Yes."

"I thought you had appointments. Physical therapy?"

Ranger gave a single nod. "I'll fit it in."

"You're still on light duty though, right?" I asked.

Ranger's brow furrowed, then the corner of his mouth tipped into a smirk. "Women ask a lot of questions."

We were interrupted with a knock at the door. I crossed the apartment and opened the door to Ximena. She was wearing an outfit similar to mine, but her v-neck shirt was heather grey.

"¡Bueños días, Steph!" she greeted, bursting into the apartment and surveying the room. "Hey, Carlos."

Ranger nodded at Ximena, taking his coffee mug into the kitchen.

Ximena Santos was Ranger's cousin. She was beautiful and Latina, with smooth, dark locks of hair that cascaded around her face and shoulders. Her skin was the color of caramel, and her straight, white teeth seemed to glow in the light. She was a no-nonsense kind of person, and despite being feminine, was a tomboy through-and-through. We'd hit it off during our time in Atlanta, and despite our short time having known one another, I thought of her as one of my closest and most trusted friends. She had previously worked in the Boston Rangeman office, but was working diligently to get a new office off the ground for Ranger in Newark.

"Do you wanna do this at the bar?" Ximena said, dumping an enormous pile of paperwork and file folders onto the counter and helping herself to coffee.

"Sure?" I said, gawking at the pile uncertainly. "I have that much paperwork? I figured you had most of what you needed already since I've done work for Rangeman in the past."

I ate another bite of eggs.

"Oh, this?" Ximena said, hopping onto a stool. "No, you only have a little paperwork—health insurance, life insurance, long-term disability insurance, 401k, dependent care assistance, health care savings plan, cell phone stipend, clothing allowance, corporate credit card agreement, non-disclosure agreements…"

I choked on my eggs. Ximena laughed loudly, holding up a single, thin file folder with my name on it.

"Relax, chíca. Most of this is related to the new Newark office. Job applications, job descriptions, information on available buildings for purchase or rent, and a variety of other things. Don't worry, we'll talk through all of it," she explained, smiling. "Ranger said you'd like to phase into work at Rangeman, so we'll discuss your schedule for the next month and your desired job description. There is a lot of grey area with your hire, so I think we can tailor your role to fit your strengths and professional goals while still helping me get Newark up and running."

I could feel the panic rising in my chest. I wasn't cut out for this kind of gig. I got to my feet and started a dash for the bathroom.

"Breathe," Ranger said, catching me mid stride and shoving my head between my knees. "Breathe, Babe. Change is hard, but it is going to be fine. Everyone wants you here. No one doubts your qualifications."

I sucked air and swallowed the bile that had risen in my throat. He was right. Change was hard. It felt like I was living in an alternate universe, and I wasn't sure I liked it.

"I have things to take care of downstairs, but I will to accompany you to the bonds office this morning," Ranger explained, releasing me to stand. "If you need anything, you know how to find me."

He handed me a key fob.

"I have replaced the fob you had that gave you direct access to my apartment with a fob that gives you access here and to other areas of the building. Ximena will show you to your office," Ranger said, picking up his laptop. "Have a good first day, and welcome to the team."

He kissed my temple and left.

Ximena walked me through all the paperwork, explaining the decisions I had to make and answering any questions I had. She made it simple, and for that, I was grateful.

"Your work schedule is flexible," Ximena explained. "There will be some specific times I need you available, but many of the tasks I need you to complete can be done independently and on your time. As long as deadlines are met, I don't care where or when you do your work."

I nodded. I was used to this type of work arrangement, so I appreciated this.

"There are a lot of people here who want to see you succeed and are here to support you. Lean on them if you have questions or struggles. In addition to the time spent working for me, I know you have a large quantity of FTAs you are working to return to the justice system. Ranger has asked that either Lester or I support you in the field. When we are unavailable, he will find another capable Rangeman employee. If there are any FTAs you would like to pass off to someone else, Ranger asks that you evaluate your files and pass off undesirable FTAs to him by the end of the week. I believe he will discuss the arrangements regarding your bond enforcement work in more detail this morning."

Handing off 'undesirable' skips? _Hell yes_, I thought to myself, identifying at least six off the top of my head I would gladly pass off.

"Our corporate values at Rangeman note the importance of investing in the professional development of our employees," Ximena said, opening a new file folder and extracting a piece of paper. "By investing in the development of your competence and skills, we guarantee the future success of our company. I have identified several areas for you to work on in your first three months of employment, but I would like for you to give input as well." She set the paper in front of me, gesturing to it. "Are there additional areas in which you would like to improve?"

I scanned the paper. It read:

_Professional Development Plan: Stephanie M. Plum_

_Date of Hire: May 15_

_Goals for First 90 Days:_

_1\. Improve competence and confidence with firearm. 30 minutes of range time three days per week with instruction._

_2\. Improve physical strength, speed, and dexterity. 30 minutes of private personal training three days per week._

_3\. Improve ability to assess risk and make decisions in risky situations. Know when to ask for help and best practices regarding risk management in the field. Direct guidance from supervisor will be utilized._

I swallowed hard. I hadn't considered this angle. I was going to have to do some real skill-development. I looked up at Ximena, whose face was devoid of emotion.

"Really?" I asked quietly.

She nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Are there other items you'd like to add?"

That seemed to cover it, so I shook my head no.

Ximena checked her watch. "Damn, Steph, I need to roll. I have a meeting in Newark, and I'm already going to be late. Your office is located on the second floor. It is marked, and your fob will get you access. Do you think you can find it yourself if I jet out of here?"

I nodded as she stacked up file folders, creating a neat pile.

"Awesome. You're going to do great, Stephanie. Let me know if you have any questions—you've got my number. I'm available to you 24/7 if you need me."

She put her dirty coffee mug in the dishwasher and headed for the door.

"Oh crap, I almost forgot," she said, turning and digging in her pocket. "Here is the key to your corporate car. It is yours for personal and professional use. It is in your spot in the garage."

She tossed me the keys.

"¡Díos mío! I've got to go! Have a good day, Steph!"

And with that, she was gone.

* * *

The elevator dinged, announcing I'd arrived on the second floor. My palms were sweaty and my arms were full of files as I entered the second-floor lobby. I hadn't spent much time in this part of the building, having primarily spent time in Ranger's apartment and on the fifth-floor control room. I found this floor to be spacious and quiet. I knew most of the employees who managed accounts and finances were housed on this floor, but I didn't know any of them.

I wandered around, taking in the new environment. Several small conference rooms were housed in the center of the building, with the outside, u-shaped perimeter lined with locking offices. I walked around the U and found a door with a small plaque next to it that read, "Ximena Santos: Newark Operations." The next door had a similar plaque that read,"Stephanie Plum: Executive Assistant."

_I had a title?_

I tried the door, but it was locked. I fumbled around, shifting items around awkwardly to access my key fob in my pocket, and managed to drop my pile of files. Documents covered the floor.

"Shit," I grumbled as I bent to collect the files.

"I wasn't sure how I felt about working with you full-time, but hell, with views like this, I could get used to it."

I turned around and flipped Lester the bird. He broke into contagious laughter.

Lester was one of Ranger's cousins and a member of the leadership team in Trenton's Rangeman office. He was good at his job, but he was a ladies-man through and through. He was also a jokester, often lightening the mood and driving ever-serious Ranger crazy. I'd worked with Lester on a variety of jobs, and I always had a fun time despite often being the punch line of the joke.

Lester used my fob to open my office door and turned on the lights for me.

"Home sweet home."

I stepped into my office and had to catch my breath. The office was spacious, with a small, black leather sofa and two club chairs inside the door. A black, L-shaped heavy wood desk was along one wall with a locking file credenza behind. The office had bookshelves and a small countertop space with a Keurig coffee maker and mini-fridge. An ultra-high-tech looking dual monitor desktop computer was set up on the desk with a laptop sitting nearby. I had a printer, phone, and a variety of other electronics I wasn't sure how to operate.

I let out a low whistle.

"The boss man pulled out all the stops," I said, smiling at Lester.

"You'd better not let Ximena hear you calling her a man—she'll take you to the mats and kick your ass," Lester laughed.

I laughed. Despite having a stomachache and a cramp in my ass about the logistics of this gig, Ximena was already proving to be an excellent boss.

"Ximena texted me to let me know she couldn't show you your office space, so I thought I'd stop by to get you started." He handed me a file folder. "This has login information for our computer system and password information for your e-mail account." He added a small key to my key ring. "This is the key for your locking file and gun safe," he explained, crossing to the desk. He unlocked a bottom drawer and removed a small Glock. "I assume you know how to operate this?"

I scowled. "Sure."

Lester laughed. "Well, you'll get some practice this week in the range. There is a holster and extra bullets in the drawer," he said, placing the gun back in the drawer and locking it.

"We didn't realize you'd be starting here today, so Ximena and I are tied up with other business. You'll be with Ranger."

"But I'm doing my bounty huntering thing," I said, scowling.

"He's going with you," Lester said.

"He's still not back to 100% after Atlanta. What the hell happened to light duty?" I asked.

Lester shrugged. "Don't know, don't care. Not my problem. Have a good day, beautiful. If you need me, you know how to reach me."

And with a wink, Lester was gone.

I busied myself exploring the many drawers and cupboards in my office, finding it had been stocked with a variety of office supplies, tools, and snacks. I locked up Ximena's files, made sure my messenger bag was ready for the day, and headed to the fifth floor to find Ranger.

I found him in his office, sipping a bottle of water and working on his computer.

"How's it going?" I asked, sitting in a club chair near his desk.

Ranger gave a nod. "Finishing up some employment paperwork. Are you ready?" he asked.

"I was born ready," I exclaimed playfully.

"Do you have your gun?"

"Do bears poop in the woods?" I asked, hoping he'd drop the subject.

Ranger gave me an annoyed glare. "Is that a yes?"

I sighed. "Not exactly."

He locked his computer and stood. "You are an employee of Rangeman now. You will carry your gun at all times. We will begin the process of acquiring a concealed carry permit this week." He put his mobile phone in his cargo pants pocket and pulled on a windbreaker. "We'll pick yours up on the way out. Do you want to take my car or yours?"

* * *

In the secure, underground Rangeman garage, I found a sleek, black, tricked out Jeep Wrangler Rubicon in one of the parking spots that, apparently, now belonged to me. It had large tires with deep tread, chrome everywhere, and a front bumper light bar. I gave a low whistle.

"You and I both know my car karma sucks. Are you sure you want me to have this car?"

Ranger nodded. "If you work for this company, you have to have a reliable ride. This vehicle is appropriate for the job. And I had a bull bar installed just in case," he joked, pointing to the large, black bar across the front of the Jeep.

He showed me a variety of features the Jeep had to offer, including a locking gun drawer under the driver's seat (standard in all Rangeman cars), impact glass, a computer with GPS tracking technology, floor anchors for leg shackles in the back seat, a first aid kit, and tool box.

The Jeep was incredibly sexy and it reeked of new car smell. It made my heart race. I gave Ranger a once-over, deciding he was pretty damn sexy too.

"Babe, you're looking at me like I'm lunch."

"Aren't you?" I said with so much innuendo I think my panties caught fire.

Ranger's pupils dilated as he took me in his arms, pushing me against the driver's door of the Jeep. He took his key fob from his pocket and pushed a button, presumably scrambling the video feed. His lips connected with mine, trapping me in a passionate kiss that took my breath away and sent an electric current from my hair follicles to my pink toenails. I pressed my pelvis into his thigh, craving pleasurable pressure.

Ranger sucked air and cried out, releasing me to step back. I realized I had pressed directly into his healing wound site.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry! Are you alright?" I asked.

"I'm fine," Ranger said, straightening up. "Just give me a minute."

* * *

I parked the Jeep on the street in front of the bonds office, and Ranger and I ambled inside, his slight limp more pronounced after the garage incident.

"Mornin'. Hot car," Connie said in her thick Jersey accent, gesturing at my Jeep. "What's with the car and the clothes?"

Connie Rizzoli was the bonds office manager. She was Italian, with big, dark hair, voluptuous breasts, a perfectly round back-side, and a faint mustache she occasionally waxed. She tended to resemble Betty Boop with her pencil skirts, tight sweaters, and high-heeled pumps. Connie had been in her job longer than I'd been a fugitive apprehension agent, and despite her shortcomings, she was great at her job. She had worked with Ranger when he collected FTAs for Vinnie, and they had an amicable relationship. She was a good judge of people, and she was detail-oriented. She was tough-as-nails and Jersey to the bone. Her family was mob, and she was tuned in to all the Burg gossip channels.

Ranger answered before I could find my words. "Stephanie is now a full-time employee of Rangeman. Is Vinnie here yet?" he asked, glancing at his steel-reinforced office door.

"Wow," Connie replied, giving me a once-over. "Congrats, Steph. That leaves us in a bit of a pickle, though." She turned her attention to Ranger. "No Vinnie yet. The weasel said he'd be in around nine, so we could expect him any time…. Or we might see him next week."

Ranger pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

"I need to see you."

He listened for a moment.

"Now. Bonds office."

He hung up.

"Never a man of many words," Connie said to me with a laugh. "What are you doing for Ranger, exactly?" she asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

"I'm helping him open the Newark office," I said, grabbing a donut from the open box on Connie's desk.

"Those will kill you," Ranger said, gesturing to my donut.

I stuck my tongue out at him and took a bite. Ten points for Plum.

"I'm going to keep working on the FTAs," I explained to Connie.

"Thank god," Connie said, fanning herself with a magazine. "Vinnie is bonkers with the number of open cases we've got right now. He is threatening to bring in Joyce. We might not stay afloat if we don't drag some of these creeps back in."

Joyce Barnhardt had a long history, and she was my arch enemy. She was a red-headed, surgically-enhanced slut who boinked my ex-husband on my dining room table before the ink on my marriage certificate had dried. Vinnie occasionally brought her in when we needed an extra hand…. Or when he thought he'd get some side nookie out of the deal.

I sighed. "I'll do my best, but the list is massive. I could use some help, but I don't think Joyce is the answer."

Ranger interjected. "Rangeman will take care of it."

"Great," Connie said, "because I need the job."

The back door slammed open, and Vinnie came stumbling in. Vinnie was my first cousin on the Plum side of my family. He closely resembled a weasel, with his long, lean body and his pointy nose. His whiney voice was like nails on a chalkboard, and despite being a sex-addicted man-slut, he was a pretty good bail bondsman.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Vinnie whined at Ranger, walking to his office door. "Not only do we have Rambo, we have Rambo junior today," Vinnie said, gesturing to me. "What's with the outfit, Steph?" Vinnie was momentarily distracted by the donuts on Connie's desk. He reached in to snag one, and Connie slapped his hand away.

"Don't touch those. I don't need to be catching gonorrhea or nothin'."

Vinnie got into Connie's face. "Hey, I know you buy those donuts out of the petty cash. I paid for those donuts, so they're rightfully mine," he said, reaching in again.

Connie slapped his hand away again, rising to her feet and getting into his face.

"YOU paid for the donuts? Last time I checked, this was the first time we've seen you in two weeks. I write the bonds and Stephanie hauls the creeps back in. What the hell do YOU do besides fuck ducks and bet on the races?" Connie asked, the anger apparent in her tone. "You're a slime ball who is collecting a paycheck off our hard work. You're the middle man. You're nothin'."

"That duck story has no truth to it, you ungrateful little…."

Ranger interrupted the argument. "Vinnie, I'd like to make you a business proposition."

"Be careful what you wish for," Connie said, taking a seat and rolling her eyes. "You and I both know that he'll screw anything that moves."

I couldn't help it…. I laughed so hard I choked on my donut.

"Babe."

"I'm good," I choked out, clearing my throat. I had no idea where the conversation was headed, but it was intriguing none the less.

"Vinnie, how much debt is this office in with the mortgage, outstanding bonds, and other accrued costs?" Ranger asked, his business face on.

"Who wants to know?" Vinnie asked, unlocking the multiple locks on his office door.

Ranger glared at Vinnie. "Me."

Vinnie scoffed.

"A lot. Why the hell do you care? Harry is footing the bill, but he's not gonna be happy when he sees this month's account statements."

Vinnie was married to Lucille, and their relationship was on-again, off-again at best. It was typically "off" when Lucille learned of Vinnie's many casual sexual relationships; it was "on" when she reluctantly took him back after much ass-kissing and whining. I don't know how the woman did it, but I couldn't put up with that kind of extra-marital nonsense. Harry, often called Harry the Hammer, was Lucille's father and Vinnie's father-in-law. Let's just say that he didn't get his name for a woodworking hobby. Vinnie had plenty to be worried about.

"How bad is it?"

"Well, let's just say if Stephanie doesn't get her worthless ass busy catching some Trenton scumbags soon, we're all out our jobs."

"I think I can help you," Ranger said, taking a seat on the corner of Connie's desk. "I'm looking to diversify Rangeman's services. I'd like to buy the bonds office."


	5. Chapter 5

"Are you crazy?" Vinnie howled. "I'm not working for you. You'll kick my ass."

Rangers face was devoid of emotion.

"You haven't heard my terms."

"Alright, wise guy. Hit me," Vinnie said, leaning against his office door frame.

Ranger rose from the edge of Connie's desk and crossed to the window facing the street. He did not turn to face Vinnie.

"I wish to purchase the business, including its facilities, its debts, and its assets. It would retain the Plum name, but drop Vincent. I will have access to client lists, documentation, and records. Ms. Rizzoli will have the option to keep her job, and she may continue to write bonds on behalf of Plum Bail Bonds. Your father-in-law will no longer be associated with the business in any way, and you will no longer hold a leadership role in the business. By selling the business and its associated debt, you agree to walk away."

Vinnie was dumbfounded. Just like me, he was speechless.

"So I'd still have my job?" Connie asked Ranger.

"Yes. You would become an employee of Rangeman, and you would receive benefits as such."

"Count me in!" Connie said, filing her nails. "What about Lula?"

Lula is the bonds office file clerk. Well, at least that is what her job title reads. No one is really sure what she does now that most of the files have gone electronic. Lula is a big, beautiful black woman who is a lot too short for her weight. Her size fourteen, double 'd' body runneth over in a size eight spandex dress. I sort of befriended her in my first few months on the bounty hunter job, and Vinnie hired her shortly after as a file clerk. Problem was, Lula had no marketable skills. Sure, Lula was great at talking smack, cracking jokes, surviving on the streets, reading people, and she claims she used to be good at her job as a Stark street hooker, but as far as the bonds business was concerned, she was a dud. I imagine Vinnie hired her as eye candy, since I had no doubt that his perverted weasel ass enjoyed studying her miles and miles of cleavage during his irregular stops into the office.

Lula has been my 'ride-or-die' for years, and she typically refers to herself as my 'bounty hunter assistant." If I was being honest, I'd probably have to call her my muscle, since on more than one occasion during a capture, she has shot at or sat on skips. Lula is like the yin to my yang. The peanut butter to my jelly. The glitter to my…. White construction paper. If Lula was a chocolate iced donut with sprinkles, I'd be a piece of dry, white toast.

"I am willing to have a conversation about Lula's future with this firm," Ranger said, "but it is unclear to me what skills and assets she brings to the table."

"So you're telling me I'd be out of the bonds business?" Vinnie asked Ranger, his tone annoyed.

"If you chose to open a new bonds office under a new name, that would be within the terms of the deal," Ranger said, sitting in one of the office's cheap orange plastic chairs. He steepled his fingers in front of his face. "However, I would retain the Plum name in addition to this space and your staff."

"Come in," Vinnie said, gesturing Ranger into his office. "Let's chat."

Ranger went in, and Vinnie slammed the door shut.

Connie and I spent several moments sitting in silence, straining to hear the conversation happening on the other side of the door.

"Did you know that was coming?" she asked me.

I shook my head "no" because I still couldn't find words. Eventually, Connie began typing on her computer and I sat on the worn out brown leather sofa, sorting through FTA files in my messenger bag.

I didn't have all my open files in my bag, but I had at least fifteen of them. I began sorting out a few I'd be willing to hand off to someone else to find—primarily guys wanted for armed robbery or violent crimes. Guys like this used to be my big payday, but now that I had a regular salary coming in from Rangeman, this type of risk seemed unnecessary.

"Did anything new come in today?"

"Yeah, you'll love this," Connie said, grabbing a file. "Richard Orr, attorney at law."

"What?!" I shrieked, ripping the file from her hands.

Richard Orr, better known as Dickie, was my ex-husband.

"I thought we weren't bonding him out," I said, paging through the file.

"I didn't. He did," Connie explained, gesturing toward Vinnie's office.

"How long did he sit in jail?"

"Two days."

I couldn't help it. I broke out in a fit of giggles, dancing my feet around on the floor in front of me. Dragging Dickie's worthless carcass back to jail sounded enjoyable.

"I can't believe he didn't show up for court. I figured he'd be a good, law-abiding citizen with his law firm and all. He's got a lot to lose."

"Nobody's seen him or heard from him," Connie said. "Sounds like he got tied up with the wrong people on some case he's been working on. Rumor is the solicitation charge with the undercover cop was a setup."

I flipped back to the bond agreement to see how much Dickie's bond had cost. $5,000.

"I'm surprised Dickie even bothered with securing a bond. The kind of money he makes, he ought to have five grand sitting around."

Connie shrugged. "Sometimes people's assets aren't very liquid. He secured the bond with his Mercedes. Vinnie has been driving it around."

It was abundantly clear that something fishy was going on with Dickie. I shoved the file into my messenger bag. I'd have to do more research into it later.

The front door to the bonds office smashed open, and Lula crashed in. She was wearing a chartreuse tube top with jean shorts that were at least two sizes too small. Five inches of belly fat were hanging over her waistband, and cellulite oozed out of the rolled cuffs. Lula's ponytail matched her shirt with streaks of hot pink. She accessorized the outfit with a large black alligator skin handbag, black alligator skin pumps, giant hoop earrings, and an assortment of bangles on her wrist.

"You're late," Connie grumbled.

"I had a busy morning," Lula said, hustling to the couch and flopping down next to me. "I had a lot of research to do. A lot of meal prep to do. Today is the first day of my new, healthier lifestyle."

Connie's eyebrows raised. "Wow, good for you. What brought this on?"

Lula poked at the spare tire of fat on her belly. "Well, you see, these are my favorite summer jean shorts, and they don't fit like they used to. I look less aesthetically pleasin' than I did last summer. So I'm throwing out the junk food and replacing it with healthy shit."

"I'm proud of you," I said. "That shows real maturity. I wish I cared enough to commit to a healthy lifestyle. I'm too addicted to donuts and pineapple upside-down cake."

"Well, I haven't totally given up donuts," Lula said. "My new diet is all about 'treating' instead of 'cheating'. I can eat some of that stuff sometimes, just not all the time."

"So what did you have for breakfast?" I inquired, genuinely interested to hear about the changes she was making.

"Well, they gave me these handy food lists," Lula said, pulling a small printed booklet from her bag. "There are food lists for four food groups here, and I can eat any of them I want."

"Four food groups?" Connie asked. "When I was in Weight Watchers, there were six food groups—grains, protein, fruit, vegetables, dairy, and fats. What are your food groups?"

Lula read from the booklet. "Well, there's proteins and vegetables like yours. Then I have fiber-filled carbs and treats."

I was liking the sound of this diet. A whole food group for treats?

"For breakfast this morning, I chose a bunch of shit off these lists. I had steak, cheese, and eggs off the proteins list. I threw some spinach and peppers from the vegetables list in my eggs. From the fiber-filled carbs list, I had toast, a bagel, an English muffin, a banana, and some hashbrown potatoes. The list said most of the bread shit should be whole wheat, but I'm a firm believer that all good diets should include some flexibility, so I went with the white shit I had on hand. I have to say, the treats list is my personal favorite," Lula said, walking over to Connie's donut box and extracting one with pink frosting and sprinkles. "So here, I'm eating a donut. I also had a glass of white wine and two scoops of chocolate fudge ripple ice cream for breakfast."

"Wow." I could feel my eyebrows raise. "That is a lot of food. Are you sure you're doing it right?"

"Yep!" Lula exclaimed. "The program has a shit ton of videos I can watch on my phone, and the girls they interview all say they're eating more food now than they were before. And they're thin and totally hot."

"Can I read that?"

"Sure," Lula said, tossing me the booklet. "This is good shit. You start this diet, and in no time, you'll be looking like a super model." Lula licked the frosting off her finger and settled herself back on the couch.

I began flipping through the testimonials at the front, and I was liking what I was seeing. Women with impressive before and after photos were prominently featured. I glanced to my waistline, noting the slight bulge above my button. Maybe I needed a diet too.

Lula wandered over to the coffee maker and poured herself a mug. She topped it off with half a gallon of cream and at least a cup of sugar.

"I'll show you the magical secret to this here diet," Lula said, rooting around in her pocket.

She extracted a small foil packet and displayed it in her palm for Connie and I to see. It read, 'Thinology.'

"This is the real money-maker," Lula said, tearing the packet open and dumping it into her coffee. "This superfood shake is the shit. It gets all those fat cells excited and jumping around in your belly, and they keel over and die from all the excitement—just like that!"

"You mix it in your coffee?" Connie said skeptically.

"Sure do. The girls in my Facebook accountability group mix all kinds of shit into their shakes. Personally, I don't want to add the spinach or frozen cauliflower to my shakes, but I can get behind stuff like coffee, milk, peanut butter, and fruit. I've tried this stuff mixed with water like the packet suggests, but it doesn't taste that great. This is an excellent way to enjoy my daily dose of superfoods," Lula said, sipping her coffee.

The more I read about Lula's diet, the clearer it became that she hadn't read the entire booklet.

"This says your breakfast is supposed to be half fiber-filled carbs and half protein. It suggests a cup of Greek yogurt topped with a cup of topped fruit or two eggs with a piece of toast. Didn't you eat treats and vegetables with breakfast?"

"I sure did," Lula announced, placing a hand on her hip. "Vegetables are extra credit at breakfast, and I am an excellent student. I ate two different kinds."

I continued to page through to the page that said 'treats.' A massive list of foods was printed, including everything from ice cream to donuts, wine to beer, and white bread to cookies.

"Lula, this says that treats are supposed to be avoided or enjoyed in moderation. They aren't supposed to be a regular part of your diet."

Our attention was temporarily averted to a black Rangeman SUV pulling up outside the plate-glass window.

"The hell they aren't," she said. "Quit hatin' on my new diet and gimme that."

She snatched the booklet out of my hand and shoved it in her massive purse.

The door to Vinnie's office opened, and Ranger emerged.

"You have one hour to clear out your personal effects. Tank will remain to ensure there are no problems. I will begin the funds transfer immediately," Ranger said, drawing his cell phone from his pants pocket.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Tall, Dark, and HOT!" Lula exclaimed, fanning herself with her hand. She gave Ranger a full body scan, giving him the same look she gives a chocolate cake after dinner.

"The deal is done?" Connie asked, her tone hopeful.

Ranger nodded, ignoring Lula's wistful gaze.

Connie let out a gleeful squeal. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she cheered.

"Tank has your paperwork," Ranger responded to Connie.

The front door opened, and Tank's hulking form entered the bonds office. Tank had served in Army Special Forces with Ranger years ago, and now he worked as Ranger's second-in-command. He watched Rangers back and kept things running behind-the-scenes at Rangeman. Tank was a quiet guy with an affinity for big, black guns and cute, furry cats.

"Well helloooooooo," Lula uttered, sidling up to Tank. "You're lookin' mighty fine today, Tankie Poo."

Tank grunted in response. Tank was a man of few words.

Lula and Tank had once been a couple, but Lula's cat allergy abruptly ended their short-lived romance.

Ranger closed the distance between us and pulled up to my feet, holding me to his chest.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked, the intoxicating smell of his Bulgari green shower gel filling my senses.

"Yeah, I think so," I said, my heart racing in my chest. "Let me pack up my stuff."

I began shoving files and papers into my messenger bag, and Ranger quietly gave Tank orders.

"Whateva you do, don't let Vinnie take the Mercedes," Connie interrupted. "It's collateral for a bond we've got."

"What the hell?" Vinnie exclaimed from his inner sanctum, appearing in the doorway. "Why ya gotta squeal on me, Connie?"

"I'm employed by Rangeman now," Connie said with an air of sass. "I can't bite the hand that feeds me."

Ranger held out his hand, and Vinnie fished the keys out of his pocket, dropping them in his palm.

"What the hell is going on here?" Lula asked, finally doing the math to realize something was going on.

"Ranger bought the bonds office," Connie said, grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh man! I get to work for Ranger now?! This is the best day of my life!" Lula wailed, tears welling up in her eyes. "This is gonna be the shit. I'm gonna be a man in black. Well, woman…. Same thing. I won't let you down, Mr. Boss Man. I…."

"No," Ranger said, his tone firm.

"What?" Lula gasped, her face horrified.

"I do not have a role for you at Rangeman," Ranger clarified.

"No!" Lula wailed, tears welling up in her eyes. "You can't do this to me! I'll lose everything!"

I had to be honest. I felt bad for Lula. Deep down I wanted to fight for her, but I was with Ranger—I didn't have a clue what she would do for Rangeman besides ride shotgun with me and wreak havoc on all our jobs. I swallowed hard, wishing I had anything to offer, but I was drawing a blank.

"Too bad, so sad," Vinnie whined, boxing up various items around the office. "Looks like we'll both be filing for unemployment."

"Why you little rat-faced pencil dick…" Lula began, grabbing her purse and taking after Vinnie. She began rooting around in the bag. "I know I've got my gun in here somewhere…."

"That won't be necessary," Ranger said, grabbing Lula by the back of her tube top.

Lula jerked to a stop. Unfortunately, the spandex tube top was no match for Lula's enormous breasts. They popped out of the top of the chartreuse shirt, the shirt sinking down to her waist to expose miles and miles of boobs and massive nipples.

Everyone froze in stupefied horror, and I felt my upper lip curl. I quickly looked away, noticing that Tank looked mesmerized by the acres of exposed black boob.

Ranger let go of Lula's shirt and turned away. To my surprise, a scarlet scald began to rise from his shirt collar.

"What'd ya have to go and do that for?" Lula asked Ranger in a defiant tone. "I am a lady. I am a professional. Can't a girl be modest around here?"

"My apologies," Ranger said as Lula began stuffing her breasts back into her shirt.

"Modest?" Connie asked. "Did you look at yourself in the mirror this morning?"

"I didn't mind it so much," Tank said. "I thought she looked nice."

Lula gave Tank a smile and fluttered her glue-on lashes at him.

Ranger looked like he was thinking about smiling.

I slung my messenger bag over my shoulder and tossed my paper coffee cup in the trash.

"Before I forget, here are a few files I'm willing to hand off," I said to Ranger, passing him four files. "I have more at home, but this is a start."

Ranger nodded.

"Yo," he said, gesturing to Vinnie, "you want to work? I could use an extra temp BEA."

"Hell no," Vinnie said as he loaded a potted plant into a box. "I'm not that desperate. Hey Lula, you want a job?"

"Hell yeah," said Lula. "What? Do you want me to be your new badass bounty hunter?"

"No, I want you to write bonds and keep the office open."

"That is offensive," Lula said. "You are gonna underutilize my talents. I've worked as a bounty hunter assistant for a long time, and I've got a knack for catching FTAs. Besides, we don't have an office anymore. Remember, genius?"

"Your talents?" Vinnie scoffed. "What talents?"

"Well, first off, I look real fine in leather. Everybody knows that the good bounty hunters wear leather. Second, I have a variety of guns that I can use to accessorize any outfit. Third, I'm not afraid to shoot at bad dudes…."

"See, that's a problem," Vinnie explained. "Shooting isn't good. Shooting means lots of extra paperwork. It means cops crawling around asking questions. I don't like shooting. It gives me a cramp in my ass."

"Hmmph," Lula scoffed.

"Do you want the job or not?" asked Vinnie, surveying his box to make sure he got all his important stuff.

"Hell yeah."

"Alright. Well, your first job is to drive me home. You've got your car, right?"

The only thing flashier than Lula was her red Firebird. Lula drove in style, with leather seats, a tricked out sound system, tons of chrome, and all the added features she could afford on her car.

"Of course I've got my baby. I'll drive you home, you little weasel, but you better not leave a grease spot on my baby's headrest. You'd best watch yo'self. You payin' mileage?"

"In your dreams," Vinnie said, headed for the door. "Good luck in your new venture, Ranger." He broke into wild laughter. "You're gonna need it with these two."

"I'll call you later?" I asked Lula.

"Hummph. Yeah. Right."

"What?" I asked, unsure why I was getting the cold shoulder.

"Some help you are. What ever happened to loyalty?" Lula said as she crashed through the door and on to the street.

My stomach ached as I watched Lula and Vinnie climb into the Firebird parked on the street in front of the office. Lula wasn't wrong. We'd been friends for a long time. Sure, she lacked some critical skills, but she was still one of my best friends. What DID happen to loyalty? I had a lot of soul-searching to do. My whole world had spun on its axis in twenty-four hours, and frankly, I'd been left speechless. This was too much to process.

"Let's roll," Ranger said, placing his hand at the small of my back and leading my speechless form out the door.


	6. Chapter 6

I drove wordlessly back to Rangeman. Ranger had a private physical therapy appointment scheduled at the building's gym, leaving me with an extended lunch break. That was fine by me. I needed to run home to feed my hamster, Rex, and take some time to process everything that had happened today.

I dropped Ranger at the underground garage elevator, politely declining his offer to have Ella make me lunch.

I drove on autopilot back to my apartment and parked in the lot behind the building. I live in a utilitarian, three-story brick apartment building filled with the newly-wed and the nearly-dead. And, of course, there was Rex and me. The building wasn't fancy and it lacked many of the amenities newer buildings had to offer, but it suited me and the price was right. Don't get me wrong, my bathroom could stand a makeover, but it got the job done.

The parking lot was quiet around lunch time, with most of the seniors out to lunch, visiting their cardiologists, or playing parcheesi at the senior center. The real bedlam would begin around two o'clock, when they returned to fight for the limited number of handicapped parking spots at the front of the lot.

Me? I was fine parking at the back of the lot. Especially today in my brand-spankin' new Jeep. Less of a chance old Mr. Earling would door-ding me with his 1989 Buick Le Sabre.

I walked through the lobby to the elevator and cursed at the 'out of order' sign, opting instead to take the stairs. I let myself into my apartment, dumped my messenger bag on the floor by the door, and shouted hello to Rex.

Rex had been my constant companion ever since my marriage went down the toilet. He was a really great listener, he didn't talk back, he liked a lot of the same foods as me, and he made very small poop. I'd had a number of scares for Rex's life between fire bombs and apartment ransackings, but Rex had managed to emerge unscathed every time. Thank god, because if ever someone had to dig a hole for his three-ounce deceased body, they'd have to make sure I'd fit in, too.

I found Rex running on his wheel. He paused just long enough to squint and wriggle his whiskers, then he went back to running. This was about as complex as our relationship got, and that was perfect for me. I refreshed his water, gave him some hamster crunchies, and tossed in a few Lucky Charms for good measure.

I opened the bag of chocolate gem donuts I'd bought the night before and began unceremoniously shoving them in my mouth. As I ate, I told Rex about the happenings of the day in an effort to mentally process it.

"This all happened too fast," I said to Rex. "Suddenly I'm working for Ranger at Rangeman AND at the bonds office. He's got me sleeping in his bed, driving his cars, wearing black clothes, and working in an office in his building. He's got me in a committed relationship AND on his insurance plan. Doesn't it seem a little controlling to you?"

Rex didn't seem too concerned. He just kept running on the damn wheel.

I reached into the bag for another donut and realized I had eaten the entire bag while story-telling. The giant helping of donuts had done nothing for my already-upset stomach, but stress-eating seemed like the right thing to do. I checked my phone, seeing I had no missed calls or texts.

To kill some time, I called my parents' house.

"Hi mom. Just checking in."

"Well, your father is at the lodge. Your grandmother is at the salon getting her hair fixed for bingo," my mom said. "I'm dusting. Do you think Ranger would prefer Italian cookies or chocolate cake for dessert tonight?"

Good news. My mom wasn't ironing. All must be right with the world.

I selfishly told my mother that Ranger would prefer chocolate cake, knowing deep down that he wouldn't touch any type of a dessert. His body was a temple, and he fed it whole-grain, high-protein, low-fat everything all the time. Cake and cookies couldn't cross into the sacred temple.

It occurred to me that I hadn't told my family about my employment change, but that news seemed better shared in person. We exchanged a few more pleasantries, ending with my promise to be there on time so the pot roast wouldn't be 'ruined.'

I had another hour before I needed to be back at Rangeman, so I spent some time sorting through the remaining FTA files at the dining room table that also functioned as my home office. I pulled out another six that I'd be more than content to pass off to someone else and used a binder clip to fasten them together. I did some research using my background search programs on my laptop and printed off some information for my remaining files. I fixed my ponytail, brushed my teeth, put on an extra coat of mascara, slathered on some lip gloss, and was back out the door.

I rolled out of the lot and headed for Rangeman. While I drove, my mind wandered back to Joe. I knew I was trying to pretend his demeanor hadn't bothered me, but deep down, something was wrong. My gut told me he was depressed, but we grew up in the Burg. People in the Burg were mental illness deniers. Maybe you were a bit sad, sure, but it could easily be fixed with booze, a heaping portion of lasagna, a ricotta cake, a pint of Ben and Jerry's, or a pack of smokes. And who was I kidding? Morelli had every right to feel depressed. He'd been shot three times. He'd lost his job, his girlfriend, and, temporarily, his dog. In a lot of ways, he'd lost his identity. If he couldn't be a cop, I didn't know what Morelli would be. I couldn't see him scooping macaroni salad at Gioviccini's or handing out dry-cleaning at Randy's Cleaners. He didn't have a degree to teach or work in finance.

Having a conversation with Joe about his feelings seemed necessary but uncomfortable. As I drove down State Street, I noticed Janis's Pet Foods and Aquatics and whipped the Jeep into the lot. Dropping food off for Bob seemed like a good excuse for a quick welfare check without much time or energy commitment on my part. I ran inside, grabbed a giant bag of Bob food, picked out a few rawhide dog treats, grabbed a bag of Rex's food, paid, and was back in the Jeep in three minutes flat. I cruised the half-mile to Joe's house and parked on the street, hefting the dog food onto my shoulder and to the front door.

I knocked, but there was no response. I rang the bell. Same thing. I opened the screen and tried the door. Locked. I set the dog food down, pulled out my cell phone, and called Morelli. No answer. I texted him, "Where are you? You home?" but received no response.

I sighed, stooped, and lifted the mat. Hide-a-key in place. Perfect. I inserted it in the door and let myself in, dragging the enormous bag behind me.

Without warning, I was knocked to the floor onto my back, the wind knocked out of my lungs. I raised my arms to protect myself, and was greeted with a hundred wet Bob kisses.

"Jeez," I said to Bob, trying to get my heart rate back under control. "I guess you missed me. You caught me off guard."

I gave Bob lots of love and kisses, telling him he was a good boy. I got to my feet and attempted to brush off the overwhelming quantity of golden hairs off my black clothes without success.

"Joe?" I called, peeking into the living room, dining room, and kitchen. No Joe. I ran upstairs, calling his name and checking the rooms. Nobody, just a disaster of epic proportions. Dirty laundry was everywhere. I ran back downstairs and checked the garage. His SUV was present and accounted for. I figured Joe still was allowed to drive, so it didn't mean much that it was home.

I let Bob outside to tinkle. We went back in the house, and I gave Bob a rawhide chew joy. He did his happy dog dance and scurried into the living room and onto the couch. I put the dog food in the Bob-proof bin Joe kept in the kitchen and freshened Bob's empty water bowl. I loaded the dishes in the sink into the dishwasher and headed out the door.

Fifteen minutes later, I was parked in the Rangeman garage. I took the elevator to the second floor, lugging my messenger bag and files to my new office. I let myself in with my key fob and flopped into my leather executive desk chair. Using the login credentials given to me by Lester, I logged into my desktop computer and set-up my e-mail account. Once completed, I began studying Dickie Orr's file.

I heard "Babe" from the doorway ten minutes later.

"Hey. How was your appointment?" I asked, sweeping the paperwork back into the file and neatly placing it in my new inbox.

Ranger responded with a single nod, which I interpreted as, "Fine, thanks."

"What's the plan?" I asked, getting to my feet and stretching.

"You've got personal training in fifteen minutes."

My eyes bugged out of my head.

"What? Now? Why?" I mumbled, my body longing to lay down and play dead. If I played opossum, he couldn't make me do it—right?

"Monday-Wednesday-Friday at 1:30," Ranger said. "It's your job."

"Crap," I whined. "What are you going to do while I suffer?"

"Watch."

Fifteen minutes later, I was on the mats in the Rangeman gym surrounded by a variety of weights and workout equipment. I'd swapped out my work clothes for a black t-shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes, and I'd tugged my hair into a sloppy bun to keep it out of my face. If I was being honest, I didn't have a clue what most the workout equipment was. I didn't do the exercise thing. Sure, occasionally I decided my pants didn't fit and I jogged a mile, but that was about the extent of it.

"Stephanie, you know Rodriguez," Ranger said, gesturing to the small Latino pock-marked guy walking towards us. "He'll be your trainer." Ranger nodded to him in greeting, and Rodriguez did the same.

I'd only had one brief encounter with Rodriguez last year when Ranger and I were trying to find a guy named Vlatko, a one-eyed Russian operative seeking revenge from Ranger's Black Ops days. All I knew about him was that he was a "heart specialist," having identified the heart left for me on Morelli's counter as human. Other than that, I had no idea what the guy did.

"You ready?" he asked, his face expressionless.

"Sure?" I asked, knowing I didn't have a choice.

Ranger took his seat near the door on a weight bench, and Rodriguez began showing me how to stretch out. It actually felt good to stretch, finding that I enjoyed it.

We started our training on the weight bench.

"You ever lifted before?"

"No."

It looked like he was thinking about rolling his eyes.

"You'll lay with your back flat against the bench. Be sure your feet are planted on the ground, like this," he said, demonstrating.

"You'll raise your arms above your head and grab on to the bar. If it hurts your hands, let me know. I can get you a pair of lifting gloves since your hands aren't used to it. Keep the weight in the middle of the palm of your hand, cupping it like this. I'll spot you and help you get the weight off the rack. You'll bring it down to your chest…. Like this," he said, dropping the bar to his chest, "then lift it back up like this. We'll try for ten reps today, increasing weight and reps over time. You ready?"

He made lifting seem REALLY easy. Too easy. I gnawed on my bottom lip.

"Isn't there supposed to be some weight thingies on there? It's just a bar."

Rodriguez elicited a dry laugh.

"The bar weighs 45 pounds. You want me to add some plates?"

I swallowed hard.

"I'm good, no… thanks."

I laid down like he had demonstrated and grabbed onto the bar.

"Ready?" Rodriguez asked, looking down at me.

"As ready as I'll ever be," I said, pushing up on the bar.

Rodriguez grabbed onto the bar above me and assisted on the lift.

This isn't so bad, I thought as I extended my arms.

Rodriguez let go, and I could feel my arms start to wobble. I gritted my teeth, slowly dropping the weight bar down to my chest. I braced my feet and pressed back up on the bar.

Nothing. I couldn't lift it off my chest. It just sat there.

"You good, Plum?" Rodriguez asked, furrowing his brow.

"Yep," I said, giving the bar another push.

It wobbled, but didn't move.

"Damn it!" I exhaled, letting the bar rest on my chest. "I can't do this."

Rodriguez took the bar in his hands and raised it up onto the rack, making it look like a toy.

"No problem," he said in his thick Latino accent, jotting down something on a clipboard. "Today will help me get your baseline so I can develop a more appropriate training regimen.

Next, we did some basic aerobic exercise. I was decent with the jump rope and the jumping jacks were reasonable enough. I did some crunches and some squats.

"Drop to the mat and give me fifteen pushups," Rodriguez asked next.

I used a few choice words under my breath and did as I was told. I got through two before he stopped me.

"Plum, you gotta keep your back straight."

"Isn't it?"

"No, your ass is in the air and your knees are bent. Your body should be straight like a board."

"Ugh!" I said, collapsing to the floor. I put my forehead on the floor and breathed hard.

"Today, Plum."

I got back on my palms and toes, dropping for another pushup.

Rodriguez dropped down to his knees next to me, placing his hand on my butt.

"Flat," he said, trying to fix my form.

Sweat was beginning to drip down my shaking arms and onto the floor from my forehead. I tried to straighten and lengthen my body, and sunk into another push-up.

"Your arms should be out to your sides and with your hands on both sides of your head. Not like that," he said, readjusting my arms.

The next eleven pushups continued in much the same way until I'd finally (painfully, I might add) completed the required fifteen.

I sucked air and guzzled water, drying my face and arms off with a towel.

Rodriguez herded me to a treadmill.

"You run?"

I couldn't muster an answer. I just kept sucking air and stared at him.

"I'll take that as a no," he said, adjusting the settings on the touch screen and gesturing me on. "We'll take it slow to start, then we'll do a ladder run."

I hadn't a clue what he was talking about, so I just nodded and climbed on.

He started me at a brisk walking pace, which I managed without any trouble. Then he took me up to a five-minute jog, which was horrible… but I could handle.

"We're going to talk in terms or RPEs here, or your rate of perceived exertion," Rodriguez said over the hum of the treadmill. "The RPE is on a scale of one to ten, with one being the least exertion and ten being the most. The brisk walk you did before was probably RPE three, because you could carry on a conversation but were slightly winded. Now that you're jogging, you're probably at RPE five. You can utter some words, but you can't speak in sentences because your body is working harder. A full-out run should be somewhere from RPE eight to ten. For the ladder drill, we're going to run at RPE 8-9 for a set amount of time—one minute, two minutes, three minutes, four minutes, then back down—three, two, one. You got that?"

I didn't understand much of what he was saying, so I just nodded and continued to gasp for air.

"Alright, Stephanie. RPE eight. Ready? Let's go."

He adjusted the settings on the treadmill, and suddenly I was running a full-tilt sprint, my arms pumping at my sides.

"Keep pace, Plum," Rodriguez said.

I pounded my feet on the belt, giving it an earnest effort but struggling like hell. What seemed like fifteen hours later, but was apparently only sixty seconds later, Rodriguez put the settings back down to a brisk walk.

I gasped for air, holding my arms above my head. I had a painful stitch in my side that I clutched at with a hand, and I felt queasy.

"Blow out harder, it helps with that," Rodriguez said.

I did as he said, blowing hard and trying to catch my breath.

"You ready for ladder two?" he asked, adjusting the settings again.

"No!" I gasped, shaking my head fervently.

"You can do it, Plum. Don't think about it, just run."

With that, he turned the speed back up, and my feet were flying on the belt again. It felt like my lungs were being ripped out of my chest. My throat was raw, my stomach was churning, and my eyes were painfully burning from all the sweat that had dripped into my eyes.

I ran as hard as I could for as long as I could, my arms pumping to keep time with my feet, until I couldn't do it anymore. I leapt off the side of the treadmill, trying to land on my feet but falling onto my knees and hands instead. My stomach heaved, and I threw up chocolate-covered gem donuts onto the gym floor.

I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and gasped for air, my vision swimming. I heaved again, and emptied the remaining contents of my stomach onto the floor.

Rodriguez walked over and set my water bottle and a fresh towel beside me. I rocked back onto my knees and wiped my face and mouth, taking a drink of water to rinse out my mouth.

"That's enough for today, Plum. Mop is in the supply closet. I'll see you back here Wednesday. Same time."

With that, he was gone, leaving me alone with my vomit and Ranger, who remained silent and still.

I put my forehead back down on the cool floor and worked to steady my breathing. Once my legs and arms stopped shaking, I pulled myself to my feet and shuffled over to the closet, tears welling in my eyes but refusing to let them fall. I cleaned up my mess and threw my dirty towels into the hamper.

"You good?" Ranger asked me as I walked toward him at the exit.

I nodded yes.

"Hit the shower. There's no women's locker room in this building, so you'll have to use mine until I can remedy that."

Once I was alone in the shower, I began to sob as the hot water cascaded over my body. I slid down the shower wall and sat on the floor holding my face in my hands. Friday, I had felt totally in-control of my relationship with Ranger. I thought he was supporting my career and my autonomy. Now, he had inserted himself in every facet of my work—and my identity. Now it seemed that everything in my life had spun totally out of control. Not to mention, I was embarrassed by my gym performance. Barfing up donuts was the cherry on top of this train wreck. I'd accomplished nothing today, and my pile of open FTA files continued to grow.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Babe, you okay?" sounded through the door.

"Fine," I sniffled, wiping my nose on my arm.

I stood and quickly soaped up my body and hair. I rinsed off, towel dried my hair, and wrapped myself up in the towel. I checked myself out in the mirror, finding my eyes were red from crying. I splashed some cold water on my face and brushed my teeth. I swiped on some mascara and chapstick.

"You can do this," I quietly coached myself in the mirror. "A few more hours at work, then dinner with the family."

I hustled out of the bathroom and into the walk-in closet, where I debated my clothing options since I figured I may not have time to change clothes before dinner at my parents' house. I dressed in all black—black undergarments, black pencil skirt, black flats, and black blouse.

"Pretty."

"Thanks," I said, smoothing the skirt with my hands.

"But you've been crying."

I stared at Ranger, unable to muster a response.

He crossed the room and wrapped me in his strong arms. The smell of his shower gel was absolutely intoxicating. I debated letting myself fall victim to his forcefield, but my brain won and I pulled away.

Ranger sighed. "Babe." He let the silence sit between us.

"What is your plan for the rest of the day?" he asked.

"I'm going to go down to the office and look at the files Ximena gave me."

"I'll collect you at 5:30," Ranger said, inching closer to me.

I nodded and headed for the door, avoiding his touch.

"Babe, you okay?"

"I'm fine," I lied. "It's just been an overwhelming day."

"In what way?" Ranger responded.

"All of it. I started a new job. I've started a new fitness program. I'm carrying around a gun and wearing new clothes. I'm driving new cars. The bonds office has changed hands. It's just… too much," I sighed.

Ranger was quiet, lost in his thoughts.

"Are you unhappy?" he finally asked.

"I don't know. I haven't had time to figure it out yet."

"With me?"

I thought about it.

"I'll get back to you on that."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I need you to communicate with me," I urged. "You blindsided me this morning with the bonds office stunt. I don't like your surprises."

With that, I stormed out of the apartment.


	7. Chapter 7

I spent the next several hours slogging through loads of paperwork. Ximena had conveniently written and attached sticky notes inside each folder detailing my instructions, so I did as I was told.

I reviewed the properties in the Newark area available for purchase and for rent. I used Google Maps to survey the neighborhoods where the properties were located, including access to major roads, nearby businesses, availability of parking, and so on. I made notes about each property on a legal pad and paper clipped my notes to each printout. I flagged the three I thought we should tour with a real estate agent.

I entered the job applicants into Rangeman's background search programs, printing out detailed reports for each man. I knew that Rangeman's current employees came from a variety of backgrounds—military veterans, former cops, ex-thieves, computer hackers, con-men, identify thieves, and reformed hit-men, for starters—so I knew the rap sheets I was printing out for some of the men were not necessarily disqualifying information for employment. In fact, they may serve as a resume for some of the men's special "talents." I highlighted areas of interest and potential skills the applicants bring to the table as Rangemen employees. When it came to protecting people and property, who better to get into the mind of criminals than an ex-criminal, right?

As I worked, the anxiety I'd been feeling earlier in the day seemed to ease a bit. I was comfortable working in the office I'd been given. I was good at using the background check programs. I could still bumble around as a not-great, almost-okay bounty hunter, and I might actually catch the bad guys more easily with Ximena. Who knows? Maybe I'd like it. I knew Ranger was an opportunist, and he'd seen the opportunity to improve my employment situation and keep me safe. I mentally told myself to give this new arrangement an honest try.

By 5:30 PM, my ass was asleep and the only thoughts my brain could muster were of food. My stomach was empty since I'd skipped lunch, opting for donuts that I'd later lost in the gym. I sent Ximena an e-mail, detailing what had been completed for the day, then shut down my computer. I stood, stretching my arms above my head.

"You ready?"

Ranger was standing in the doorway of my office, car keys in hand. His face looked tired, but his posture was tall and straight, a relic of his military days.

"Yeah, let's go. I'm starving," I said, slinging my messenger bag over my shoulder. "Did you get a lot done today?" I asked.

Ranger nodded, tossing me a set of keys. "You can drive my car."

I glanced at the keys, then immediately felt a rush of excitement. I wasn't about to argue with him. Ranger drove a sexy black Porsche 911 Turbo. It was vehicular perfection; it was shiny, smelled like new-car-smell, drove fast, and offered exceptional handling.

We headed for the garage in silence, Ranger's hand on the small of my back. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket as we rode down the elevator. I dug it out and checked the readout. "Dillan" was on the screen.

Dillan Ruddick was the superintendent of my apartment building. We'd gotten to know one another fairly well over the years, since I regularly experienced apartment disasters that required his repair expertise. I'd had my fair share of blood to be cleaned up, fire-bombs shot into the place, and I'd even had one guy blow himself up in my apartment. Needless to say, Dillan head learned to keep a fire extinguisher nearby and had catalogued my preferred paint color and carpet choice. Given our history, I thought it best to answer the phone call. You never know when a skip might come unglued and blast a fire-bomb through your bedroom window, right?

"Hi Dillan," I greeted. "Everything okay?"

"Hi Steph. I haven't seen you around this afternoon. Will you be around tonight?"

"I don't know. I've got plans," I said, using the key fob to unlock the Porsche. "Why? What's up?"

Ranger gave me the "Who's that?" look, so I silently mouthed "Dillan." He nodded, showing no surprise or emotion. He knew I was a disaster. He eased himself into the car, being careful with his healing leg.

"Well, I wasn't sure if you'd seen the notice that was posted on the front door by the City of Trenton this afternoon, so I wanted to give you a call so you had plenty of time to vacate the building."

"What?" I asked, confused. "No. What are you talking about?"

"The City of Trenton has condemned the building. You have forty-eight hours to move out. Well, I guess now it's more like forty-five hours."

"That can't be right," I said.

"Sorry, Steph. Condemned means condemned."

"Why?" I flung my messenger bag into the car, then slid into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind me.

Ranger listened intently, his brow furrowed.

"The building inspectors came by today, and they found friable asbestos tiles in most of the apartments in the building plus the laundry room," he explained. "Remediation isn't possible with tenants in the building, so the building has been condemned and tenants must relocate by Wednesday afternoon."

I put my forehead on the steering wheel and did some deep breathing.

I'd be the first to admit my apartment wasn't great. It was stuck in the 1950s, never having been truly updated. The only thing worse than the hideous kitchen was the bathroom tiles and fixtures. But despite being old, it felt safe. It wasn't fancy, but it was comfortable. It felt like home. The thought of having to move out of my apartment made me sick.

"You there?" Dillan asked.

"Yeah. Please tell me this is a horrible joke."

"Sorry, I wish. It's been a real pain in the ass, what, with finding moving companies to move all the old folks out of here. I have to move too, and manage the project living off-site. The landlord will have to pay up to three months rent to cover your costs associated with relocating, so save your receipts. Once the tiles are replaced and all the asbestos removed, the apartments will go back up for rent. You'll have first dibs on your old place, but if you don't want to relocate again, I understand."

I ended my call with Dillan and took a few more deep breaths to calm myself. My chest felt tight, and my palms were sweaty.

"Babe?" Ranger asked, rubbing my leg.

"My building is condemned. I have to move," I said, rubbing my face nervously.

"Do I need to call your mom to cancel?" Ranger asked.

"No," I said, sighing loudly as I turned over the engine. "An hour or two won't make much difference at this point. Plus, I need to ask my parents if I can move in for a while."

"Babe," Ranger said.

'Babe' could mean almost anything when Ranger said it. It was all about his tone, inflection, and body language. In this case, I'm pretty sure it translated to, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"It will be fine," I said driving out of the garage. "Everything is fine." If I told myself this enough, maybe I'd believe it.

Ranger gave me a look that said, 'You don't look like everything is fine.'

"I hope you know you can move in with me," Ranger said. "It would be my pleasure to with you, either permanently or at least until your apartment is fixed."

Move in with Ranger? Warning lights and sirens started going off in my head. Sure, we'd been staying overnight at one another's places regularly, but actually living together? That felt like a lot of commitment. It felt serious. It made it feel like Tank was sitting on my chest.

I pulled into a parking place on the street and threw the Porsche into park.

"Babe?" Ranger asked, his brow furrowed.

"I need a minute," I said, placing my forehead on the steering wheel.

"You have serious commitment issues," Ranger said, relaxing back into his seat.

"Excuse me?" I was dumbfounded. I was in a committed relationship with Ranger. There had been no cheating. I had clothes in his closet and tampons under the sink in his bathroom. We shared a bed nearly every night. "I have commitment problems? What about you?"

Ranger shrugged. "I've worked through most of mine with my therapist."

I was dumbstruck. "You have a therapist?"

"Yes," Ranger said. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with marriage just yet, but I'd permanently cohabitate with you, no questions asked. Give me another month on a marriage. My therapist and I are working on it."

This only intensified my panic.

"Breathe," Ranger instructed. "We don't have to get married, Steph."

"Would you just shut up already?" I exploded, my panic turning to rage. I'd mentally hit my limit for the day.

Ranger's mouth transformed into a firm line, his emotionless military face in place.

We sat in silence while I did some mental knuckle-cracking. 'Get through dinner,' I told myself. 'Tell mom I'm moving in. Go to the apartment and pack up some stuff.'

Once I was relatively calm, I pulled back into traffic and pointed the Porsche toward Chambersburg.

I parked in front of my parent's house at 6:03 PM. We were three minutes late. That meant the mashed potatoes were cold, the gravy was congealed, the bread was stale, and the pot roast was ruined… at least according to my mother. Yet another black mark on my horrible, terrible, no-good day.

My grandmother was peering out the door when we climbed out of the car and started for the door. She was wearing black Pilates pants, a pink tank top, and pink Nike running shoes. She had loose skin oozing out everywhere, the Pilates pants hanging formlessly on her boney frame. Her hair was tinted lavender with lots of spiral curls perfectly in place. She finished the ensemble with pink lipstick, a watch, and small hoop earrings.

"Howdy," Grandma shouted out the door.

"Hi, grandma," I said, giving her a fast hug. "I like your hair."

And that was the truth. Somehow, her wild hair suited her. Grandma Mazur was a fun, free-spirited person. She deserved to have awesome hair.

"Why thank you," she cooed, scrunching a curl between her fingers. "You don't think it's too much?"

"It's perfect," I said. "Sorry we're late."

"No need to apologize to me," said grandma, "but you might want to hurry up and get in the house or your mom will start hitting the hooch. You sure do look pretty."

Ranger and I shuffled inside and into the small dining room where my father was seated. The table was set with my mom's nice dishes and silver, with enough food to feed an army splayed across the top-a sliced pot roast, peas, gravy, beet pickles, sweet pickles, slices of good Italian bread, a bottle of red wine, an antipasto platter, and some mysterious Jello salad.

"Hi dad," I said, pecking him on the cheek. "Where is mom?"

"Microwaving the potatoes," dad said. "You're late."

"Sorry," I said, taking a seat. "Circumstances out of my control."

Mom brought the potatoes to the table, grandma took a seat, and we were off.

"It's nice to see you, Carlos," my mom cooed, spooning peas onto her plate.

"It's nice to see you too, Mrs. Plum," said Ranger, stabbing a piece of pot roast and offloading it onto his place. "Thank you for the dinner invitation."

"We'd love to see you more regularly. Stephanie's ex-boyfriend came over every Friday for dinner," my mother explained, placing a roll on her plate. "Maybe we could find a regular night you could come."

I squelched a grimace at the mention of Morelli but said nothing, shoveling my plate full of food. Ranger made his plate, too, but he avoided the gravy, white bread, and Jello.

"That would be nice," Ranger said, spooning potatoes onto his plate. "Stephanie, what night of the week would work for you?"

I froze with a fork full of pot roast halfway to my mouth. Did he really just agree to my mother's idea?

"Huh?"

He flashed me a two-hundred-watt smile that instantly made my panties wet. "Is there a night of the week you'd like to come eat at your parents' house with me each week?"

"Well, about that," I said, pushing some potatoes around on my plate. "I'm not sure what my work schedule will be like for a while. I kinda started a new job today."

My mother crossed herself. "Thank god. Bond enforcement has been too dangerous for you. You never should have got involved with Vinnie. Did you take a nice office job somewhere? You look lovely today, by the way. I like the professional clothes."

"Not exactly an office job," I told my mom, still playing with food on my plate. "I'll still be doing some bond enforcement, but I took a job with Ranger's company, Rangeman."

"Good for you!" Grandma exclaimed. "Now you're a badass man in black!"

"Uh…. Something like that."

"I can't wait to tell all the ladies tonight at bingo!" Grandma exclaimed proudly.

"Actually, Stephanie doesn't work for me, just my company. She is the executive assistant to my cousin Ximena. She is establishing a new office in Newark. We could try for Fridays if that worked for you, Babe."

Friday family dinners with Ranger? I nodded wordlessly, struggling to comprehend what weekly dinners would be like with him regularly attending.

"Executive Assistant, huh?" my dad said through a mouthful of pot roast. "That sounds important. Proud of you."

My dad just said he was proud of me?

"Thanks, dad."

"She has demonstrated a lot of personal and professional growth in this career move. She's good at her work," Ranger bragged to my father. "She's an asset to Rangeman."

"Does that mean you'll be moving to Newark?" Grandma asked looking concerned. "I'm glad you got the job and all, but I'd sure be sad to see you move."

"No, I'll be here in Trenton," I explained.

"Phew, that's a relief," Grandma said, shoveling into her heavily-gravied potatoes.

"Speaking of living in Trenton…. Mom, Dad…. I was wondering if it might be alright if I stay with you for a while."

They both glanced up from their plates.

"What's the matter?" my dad asked. "You didn't have another fire, did you?"

"No, nothing like that," I explained. "My apartment building is condemned. Something about friable asbestos, whatever that is. I have to move out until they get it all fixed."

"Of course, Stephanie," said my mom. "Do you need help moving your things?"

"Asbestos, huh?" my grandma said. "I've heard that stuff is bad news. Causes all kinda lung problems, like cancer and mesotheli-whatever the heck. I've heard about it in commercials on television. You'd better hope that you don't end up glowing in the dark or coughing up blood or anything."

Great. Something to look forward to.

"I invited Stephanie to stay in my apartment," Ranger interjected, "but it sounds like she would prefer to stay with you. I can help her move her things."

I shot him a glare that could freeze water and kicked him under the table.

Grandma suddenly looked hopeful. "Well, if Stephanie wants to stay in my room, I'll come stay with you, Ranger."

I let out an exasperated, "Oh my god!"

"My apologies, Mrs. Mazur. My apartment only has one bedroom," Ranger said.

"Like I said, I'd be happy to stay with you," Grandma joked, winking.

Barf.

Ranger winked back at Grandma, flashing her a grin. Grandma looked pleased with herself.

"Stephanie Michelle Plum," my mother began. "You really ought to reconsider…"

I cut her off. "I ought to what? Move in with Ranger? Get married? Produce more grandchildren for you?"

"Steph," my dad admonished, "your mother is simply worried about your long-term interests. Isn't that right, Helen?"

My dad gave her a look that said 'not another word.'

"Correct," my mother said, downing her glass of what appeared to be iced tea, but I suspected was whiskey.

"Well, for what it's worth, I'd be more comfortable staying here for now, as long as that is okay."

"Of course," my dad said, sopping up gravy with his bread.

Ranger and I drove away from the house with me behind the wheel. As I had expected, Ranger had avoided dessert, so I had eaten his piece of cake in addition to my own. Now, I was in a sugar-and-carbohydrate-induced coma. Not only was I overly full, I was in a rotten mood.

"Babe?" Ranger asked. "Have I done something wrong?"

"Today has really sucked," I said. "I know you're trying to help, but if I move in with you, I want it to be on my terms—not because I'm homeless."

"That's fair," he said. "I'm just trying to understand what is going on between us."

"What do you mean?" I asked, steering the Porsche onto Hamilton Avenue.

"You are pushing me away," Ranger said, hurt on his face.

"I'm not pushing you away," I argued. "You're suffocating me. I need some autonomy, but every single piece of my life is suddenly connected to you in some way. I need some power in this relationship. I've become a puppet-you pull all the strings. You didn't have anything to do with my apartment, did you?" I accused.

"No," Ranger said. "Do you really think I'd do that to you? I'd never do anything like that, but I am sorry that this happened to you."

"Thank god. But really, what else are you doing behind my back? What else are you hiding from me?"

Ranger didn't answer, his blank expression firmly in place.

"Oh my god!" I shrieked, throwing a hand up in anger. "There IS something! What the hell?!"

Ranger's face became contemplative. "I'm not sure now is the time to have this conversation."

"We are having this conversation," I argued. "You can't keep doing stuff behind my back. You're treating me like an employee, not like your girlfriend."

"It is related to your work at Rangeman, so I thought it was appropriate I make the decision."

"Please include me in these decisions!"

"Okay. I apologize. We can talk about it."

"Talk about what?" I asked, giving him the side-eye.

"Hiring your future partner."

"Oh," I said. "Well, it will be a while before I'm done helping Ximena. No rush."

Ranger nodded.

His silence gave me a bad feeling.

"What?" I asked.

"Given the circumstances, I expedited the timeline," Ranger said, folding his hands in his lap.

"Expedited? Meaning…. You already hired someone?" I asked.

Again, Ranger's response was a nod.

It became abundantly clear that my emotions were running too high to safely have this conversation while driving. I pulled into a gas station parking lot, throwing the Porsche into 'Park.'

"You didn't even talk to me about it!" I exclaimed. "I'm not even sure what my job description is going to include-and you hired someone."

"Special circumstances," Ranger said. "I hope you'll forgive me."

"Who is it?" I pried angrily. "Did you hire Lula?"

Ranger shook his head 'no.'

"Is it anybody I know?"

"Steph, can we please do this somewhere else? I don't like arguing, especially in the car."

"I asked if it was anybody I know?" I shouted, waving my arms.

Ranger nodded.

"Who?"

Ranger sighed, resigned.

"Joseph Anthony Morelli."


	8. Chapter 8

"Get out."

"Babe…."

"I said get out!"

Ranger didn't move.

"I did what I felt was in your best interest…"

With that, I flung the door of the Porsche open, jumped out, and began walking away from the gas station. I was at least a mile from my parents' house and a couple miles from my apartment, so I headed toward my parents' since it was closer. I could borrow Big Blue.

I heard the Porsche alarm chirp, followed by Ranger's uneven footfalls behind me.

"Babe, wait," he begged.

"You're a controlling, manipulative asshole. I quit!" I shouted over my shoulder.

"You'll have to take that up with your boss," Ranger said, closing the distance between us.

I picked up my pace, and his quickened, too.

"Please let me go!" I begged, turning to face him with tears streaming down my face.

"I can't do that," he said, sadness in his eyes. "I can't let you walk away from me. I love you."

"Why him?" I sobbed. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"I wasn't doing this 'to you'… I was doing this for you," Ranger admitted. "Your safety is my number one priority. If I can't be with you all the time, I can't keep you safe. I need someone who will."

"And Morelli is that someone?"

Ranger nodded.

"If he can't be a cop, how can he do this job?"

"Let me determine his abilities," Ranger said, sounding irritated. "He's undergone extensive physical therapy since he sustained his injuries, and today he underwent a thorough examination for Rangeman to determine his abilities and areas of concern. We will address them with additional training and therapy. He is a lot more capable than you give him credit for. Like you said, you've still got a lot of work to do with Ximena. And when that comes to an end, you will be safe to do what you want."

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms.

"I am so mad at you," I huffed. "And I can't believe he took your pity job."

"It took some convincing. And Babe, it's not a pity job."

I rolled my eyes. "So that's what you had to talk to him about the other day."

Ranger nodded. "He has knowledge and skills that I can't teach. They come with years of experience. He has valuable connections. We may not be friends, but we have professional respect. And he knows you better than anyone—even better than me," Ranger said, sounding almost sad. "He cares for you, and he won't let anything happen to you on his watch."

"What about him?" I asked. "I'm a bumbling idiot. I'm not much of a partner for him."

"Again, let me be the judge of that."

"And you trust me with him? What if I sleep with him?" I asked angrily.

Ranger put on his blank face. "I trust you."

I put my hands on my hips and raised an eyebrow.

"If that's what you want, do it. I want you to be happy. If I don't make you happy, you deserve to be with someone who does."

When I failed to respond, Ranger held his arms out to me. A small part of me wanted to claw his eyes out, but most of me was too emotionally exhausted and still deeply in love with him in spite of his overprotective, opportunistic ways. I was struggling to believe that he just gave me his blessing to leave him for Joe if it would make me happy. He was a good man, and I wasn't sure I deserved his unconditional love… even if it occasionally came at the price of my sanity or perceived independence. I collapsed into Ranger's arms, and he pulled me into the safety of his embrace. I let out a few more pathetic sobs before quieting.

"Are you going to be alright?" Ranger asked.

"I'm always alright," I said into his neck.

Ranger pulled back and looked intently at me, searching my eyes for something.

"You don't always have to try to be tough, especially with me. It concerns me. You're one of the most resilient people I know. You don't have anything to prove."

"I love you," I whispered, nuzzling into his neck.

"Let's get you home. Come on," Ranger said, wrapping his arm around my waist and leading me toward the Porsche. He led me over to the passenger side and opened the door.

"Don't I need to drive?" I asked, confused.

Ranger smirked. "I was cleared to drive today."

Ranger and I pulled into my apartment building's lot and saw that chaos had ensued. Several moving company trucks were parked with crews loading out boxes and furniture. Several rental moving trucks were in the lot too, leaving a limited number of spaces for parking.

"Oh my god," I whined, covering my eyes.

"It'll be okay," Ranger said, patting my thigh.

We parked at the back of the lot and trudged into the building. A large notice on orange paper had been posted on the inside and outside of the door, notifying tenants that the building was condemned and our rights. Sadness settled into the pit of my stomach as I watched my elderly neighbors' belongings being carried out of the apartment. The elevator was still out of service, so we climbed the stairs to the second floor. I unlocked my door, and Ranger and I entered carrying leftovers my mother had sent.

I took the leftovers to the kitchen and went to check on Rex. Ranger followed.

"Hi buddy," I said, tapping on the side of his aquarium.

There was rustling, and he peeked his head out of his soup can.

"Did you hear?" I asked. "We have to move."

Ranger stood behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist. He reached in to Rex's cage with the other and scratched between his ears.

I relaxed into Ranger and dropped a few peanuts into Rex's bowl. He scurried over to the bowl, shoved the peanuts into his cheek, and disappeared into his soup can.

"I know I should start packing, but it is too overwhelming. I'm not sure where to start."

Ranger kissed my neck, his five o'clock shadow rough against my skin.

"You don't have that much," Ranger said, "so that will make it easier. Is there anything you're planning to get rid of?"

I surveyed the kitchen, living room, and dining area. Almost everything I owned was second-hand from relatives who had either died or upgraded. None of it was worth paying to store.

"The couch and chair can go," I sighed. "I'm on the fence about the table and chairs. I hate to have to replace them later."

"Have you thought about renting another apartment?" Ranger asked.

It hadn't occurred to me that I could simply move into another apartment.

"No," I admitted. "I guess I'd hoped to move back in here when it's done."

"There are lots of available apartments in the greater Trenton area," Ranger said, rubbing his hand down my arm. "It might be a nice chance for you to upgrade since you don't know how long you'll be out of here. A week or two with your parents might be alright, but I can't see you lasting six or more months."

"Oh my god. Do you think it will take that long?" I asked.

"I don't know," Ranger said. "It's a big project if there is asbestos throughout the building. I expect they'll make other updates with the building empty so they can modernize the place."

"I don't have much time to find a place if I go that route."

"Sleep on it," Ranger suggested. "We can see what's available in the newspaper in the morning. Do you want to tackle some of this tonight or work on it tomorrow?"

"I should start packing, but I don't have any boxes. Or tape or bubble wrap or whatever."

Ranger removed his cell phone from his pocket and tapped something into it.

"Boxes will arrive shortly. What can we do before then?"

"Um… Clothes?" I half asked, half answered.

I grabbed some garbage bags from under my sink and carted them off to the bedroom with Ranger on my heels. I dug my suitcase and a duffel bag out from under my bed.

"How can I help?" Ranger asked.

"Um…. Hold the bag, please," I said, handing him a garbage bag.

He stood holding the bag while I shoveled my out-of-season winter clothes, coats, and boots into it. I filled the suitcase and duffel bag with shoes, clothes, jackets, and undergarments I'd need until I settled in somewhere more permanent, then dumped the rest of the clothes I rarely wore into another garbage bag.

"I know you're not wanting to move in right now," Ranger said, "but will you stay with me tonight at my place?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"I wasn't sure if we were okay."

"We're okay," I said, wrapping my arms around his waist. We kissed, his lips sending electric tendrils from my lips to my toes and touching all the good places in between. "I'm sorry if I was unbearable today."

"Babe, I was unbearable today. I have control issues. And a lot to talk to my therapist about."

He ran his warm hands under my shirt and up my back, causing me to shiver. He planted a delicate row of kisses from my shoulder, up my neck to my ear. He took my earlobe between his lips and sucked gently, sending shivers and another ripple of pleasure through my body.

I dug my fingertips into his shirt and moaned, grinding my hips into his. I felt his erection straining against his pants. I pushed him back toward the bed, and he shuffled backward until he felt the bed behind his knees. He laid on the bed, his eyes dilated totally black.

I stood between his knees, kicked off my shoes, and removed my blouse and skirt so I was clad in only black, lacy undergarments. I took the hem of Ranger's shirt and began pushing it up his torso, leaving a trail of kisses from his naval to his neck. He pulled the elastic from my hair, allowing it to fly wildly around my face. Ranger's abs were hard and defined, and his mocha latte skin was smooth except for the pink scars, remnants from our time together in Atlanta. He propped himself up enough to help me get his shirt over his head, then he laid back again, content to let me take the lead.

I climbed onto his body, careful to avoid his leg injury, and straddled his hips. Our lips connected, and I went breathless. He placed his palms on my butt and pulled me to him, grinding into me and expelling air. I moaned into his mouth.

A knock sounded from my front door, and I let out an exasperated sigh.

"Boxes," Ranger said, placing a gentle kiss on my neck. I rolled off impatiently, and he went to answer the door. He was back a few moments later, ripping his pants off.

"Back so soon?" I joked.

"Babe," he said, pouncing on me and ripping off my bra. "I want you."

Ranger held me in his arms in the bed as the last hints of daylight faded behind the curtains. His skin was warm against mine, and his lips lingered on my temple, placing soft kisses. I would have been content to stay here forever—satisfied, safe, and comfortable.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Ranger, tracing his fingertips down my arm.

"You," I admitted sheepishly.

"Me, huh?"

"Trying to decide how to dispose of your body after I kill you."

Ranger let out a bark of laughter, and I play-punched him in the side.

"No, really," he said, playfully pinning me to the bed.

My heart began to race with his weight pressing into me.

"Were you serious that you want me to live with you?" I asked incredulously.

"I wouldn't joke about something like that," Ranger said, his face deadly serious.

"What if I said I'd be willing to try it on a trial basis until I can figure something else out?" I asked cautiously. "Hypothetically, I mean."

"Hypothetically, I'd be honored that you were willing to make a home with me."

I worried my bottom lip between my teeth.

Ranger's lips connected with mine, and the anxiety I'd felt seconds prior melted away into ooey gooey feelings about Ranger.

"I don't think I can do weeks or months with my parents," I admitted, panting.

"Don't," Ranger said, rolling over me. He placed a warm, strong hand on my cheek and our lips connected, sending ripples of pleasure coursing through my body. "Stay with me."

He kissed down my neck and chest to my naval, then continued kissing south until…. Oh my god.

By 10:30 pm, Ranger and I were walking zombies. We'd managed to pack up most of the kitchen, living room, and bedroom, leaving only large furniture, my office stuff in the dining area, and the bathroom. Having very little stuff had its advantages.

"I'll send some men over tomorrow in SUVs to load this out with you," Ranger said, picking up my duffel bag and suitcase. "We have some room you can store it at Rangeman. Let's roll."

I locked up, and we stumbled out of the apartment building to the car.

Ranger drove home on autopilot, with shadows of exhaustion under his eyes. I was barely able to keep my eyes open, fighting sleep the entire way. We parked in the garage and took the elevator to his apartment, where we stumbled in, dropped the bags, changed our clothes, and collapsed into his bed for a dreamless, exhausted sleep.

I woke to the smell of brewing coffee, the sound of the shower, and the gentle glow of light from Ranger's study. I rubbed my eyes and glanced at the bedside clock. 7:18 AM.

I crept out of bed and wandered into the bathroom.

"Morning," I greeted sleepily, smearing toothpaste on my toothbrush.

Ranger was rinsing off in the shower, the scent of his shower gel filling the steamy room.

"I tried to let you sleep," Ranger said. "Sorry I woke you."

"No, you're fine," I said through the toothbrush. "I needed to get up anyway for work. I don't want to be late for my second day."

"Short commute," Ranger said dryly.

"Did you get any sleep?" I asked him.

"Some," he said, his tone unconvincing.

"What's on the agenda for today?" I asked, shucking Ranger's t-shirt I'd slept in.

"I've got appointments and work to do here. Lester is with you today. Manuel and Carl are planning to help load out your apartment today whenever you're ready."

I climbed into the shower with Ranger and stepped into the hot water, wetting my hair. Ranger lathered my body with his Bulgari green shower gel, and I shampooed my hair.

"What sort of torture is in store for today?" I asked.

"Range time at nine," Ranger said. "Think of it as practice, not torture."

I grimaced.

"Guns wouldn't be so bad if they didn't go 'bang' and kill people."

"Babe."

I was at my desk by 8:00 AM dressed in typical Rangeman uniform of black shirt, black cargo pants, and black boots. I checked my inbox and found an e-mail from Ximena thanking me for helping her get ahead with 'busy-work' and giving me additional tasks for the week as time allowed. None of it seemed super high priority, so I opted to pull out some bond files for my day with Lester.

I scanned Dickie's file and found nothing of particular interest. He had moved since I'd last seen him, but that didn't mean anything. I figured Lester and I could run by his place in the Burg later, and if I mooched lunch off my mom, I might be able to ask about any recent gossip about Dickie. I'd have to ask Connie, too.

I pulled two other files that I figured should be easy to clear—Leo Zacharias and Fran Gilmer.

Leo Zacharias was eighty-three years old and a resident of the Burg. He was a low bond, arrested for assault at All-Day Diner. According to Connie's narrative in the file, the waitress at the All-Day Diner had brought Leo's wife, Garnetta, a slice of apple pie. The problem was, Garnetta had ordered a slice of peach pie a la mode. When the waitress was asked to correct the order, she gave Leo some sass. He responded by cracking her over the head with his HurryCane, knocking her unconscious and resulting in a concussion. He had failed to appear for court, and I hadn't had time to mess with him since it had been a low bond. I figured Lester could help me clear this one quickly and without a fuss.

Fran Gilmer was seventy-one and a widower. He lived in a retirement apartment in North Trenton and worked part time in the public library. He had been arrested for driving without a license while commuting to work, and according to his file, this was not his first offense.

My phone rang at fifteen to nine, and I saw it was my mother.

"Hi mom, how's it going?"

"Good morning, Stephanie. It's a sad morning."

"Oh no. What's wrong?"

"Mabel Markowitz passed away," my mom said, her voice thick with sadness.

Mabel lived in the other half of my parents' duplex. She was at least ninety years old and had been a widow for a lot of years, so she'd spent her time cleaning and baking an endless string of coffeecakes. Mabel had outlived her retirement savings and her children, but she managed to get by on social security and had a close relationship with her granddaughter, Evelyn, and her great-granddaughter, Annie. We would often see them visiting her next door.

"Oh my god, that's so sad," I responded. I hadn't been particularly close with Mrs. Markowitz, but I'd known her for a bunch of years. She had been a staple of my parents' neighborhood. It was hard to believe she was gone.

"Evelyn was over this morning. She said she expects the viewing to be Thursday night with a funeral on Friday. I thought you'd want to know."

"Thanks, mom. I'll plan to come."

We exchanged a few more pleasantries before disconnecting. I locked my computer and began stuffing files in my bag when I heard Lester at my door.

"Mornin', Beautiful," he greeted.

"Hey," I greeted in response. "I didn't figure I'd see you until after range time."

"Well, you're in luck," he said, leaning against the door frame. "I'm your range instructor."

I rolled my eyes. "You have got to be kidding."

Lester waggled his eyebrows like only he could do. "Are you disappointed?"

"No, I guess not," I said, slinging my messenger bag over my shoulder and loading my gun in my open-carry holster. "I'm not sure who I expected."

"Let's do this," he said, hitting the lights to my office.

We took the elevator to the building's basement, where I had never been before. It had an unfinished feel with concrete walls and floors and metal fire doors off a single hallway. Lester punched a code into a keypad on an unmarked door and swung the door open, ushering me in. I crossed into the range and came face-to-face with Joe Morelli.


	9. Chapter 9

Joe was standing alone in the range. His entire appearance seemed to have changed. His hair had been cut shorter than it had been in some time, though still patchy on the side he'd been shot, and he was clean shaven. He was wearing black cargo pants, black tennis shoes, and a black t-shirt that looked as if it had been painted onto his body. His Glock was strapped to his leg in an open-carry holster. I was shocked to see how strong he looked in spite of everything he had been through. His presence took my breath away, and I was momentarily struck speechless. My heart raced.

We stood chest to chest, staring at one another for what seemed like forever until Lester broke the silence.

"Well this is awkward," he said, shuffling past us to turn on the lights in the shooting lanes

I looked at my feet, trying to get my scrambled neurons to think straight.

"Hi, Steph," said Morelli, backing away to give me some space. "I didn't know I'd see you here today."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Me either. Sorry you're stuck with me as your partner."

Morelli nodded acknowledgment, not seeming particularly pleased or upset. "I guess your job change worked out in my favor so I can be gainfully employed again."

I nodded, trying to make the fluttery feelings in my chest go away. I wasn't supposed to feel this way. I was in a committed relationship with Ranger. My inner voice chastised me for being stupid.

"Let's get to the line," Lester said, sensing the tension in the room. "Time is wasting."

He handed Joe and I noise-reduction ear protection and goggles, and he set extra ammo on the small countertop.

The range was not very wide, but it was long. The walls appeared to be concrete with some type of noise-cancelling insulation installed at random intervals, and the lighting was high-powered LED. The range had two lanes with a hanging figure in each that could be adjusted for closer or further shots. I took the right lane, and Morelli took left.

We both aimed and emptied our clips. I was pleased that all of my shots had traveled through the paper and hadn't gone totally wide, although only half had actually hit the humanoid figure. I glanced over at Morelli's paper. All of his shots had gone straight through the head and chest.

I swallowed hard. He may have issues, but Joe could still shoot.

Morelli and I loaded our clips at the center countertop facing one another while Lester replaced our targets.

"So how've you b… b…. been?" Morelli asked, his eyes soft.

I sighed. "It's been a rough week."

"It's only Tuesday," Joe responded matter-of-factly.

I told him about my apartment, about Mabel Markowitz, and about Ranger buying the bail bonds business.

"Wow," he said, sounding a bit shell-shocked. Worry lines I hadn't seen before creased the corners of his eyes. "Where are you g… g…. going to live?"

I shrugged. "I thought about moving in with my parents, but I don't think I can handle it. Here, probably. Or find another place."

Joe looked a bit disgusted at the thought of me moving into the Rangeman building, but he said nothing.

We repeated the process of firing a clip and reloading six more times, each time making small talk as we reloaded. Lester gave me a good deal of instruction, and my shots improved a little with each round. He reassured me that regular practice would help my accuracy. With each clip, Lester gave Morelli a confident, "Good."

When we finished, Morelli and I sat at the counter. Morelli dutifully cleaned his gun, and Lester helped me, teaching me how to properly clean and maintain the firearm.

Morelli strapped the gun to his leg and headed for the door. He turned, deep in thought.

"Hey Steph?"

"Yeah?"

"You know if you… you ever n…. need a place to stay, I have space."

I froze, my eyes locked with Joe's. My brain told me this was the danger zone, but the old Steph that liked familiar situations was intrigued by this proposal. I really was struggling with all this change.

"Thanks, Joe. That's sweet.."

He turned and left, the door clicking closed behind him.

"Well that was fucking weird," said Lester, giving me a goofy smile.

I laughed out loud and playfully punched him in the shoulder. He grabbed his shoulder, pretending it had hurt.

"Shut up, Les."

I may have laughed, but Lester was right. That had been awkward. There was entirely too much sexual tension in the room, and it became clear that despite my commitment to Ranger, I still had a lot of feelings and emotions I needed to work through.

* * *

Lester and I pulled up in front of the bonds office in my black Jeep. I was surprised to see that the front signage had been changed to a sleek new sign that read "Plum Bail Bonds."

"Nice," I breathed.

"Ranger didn't screw around," Lester replied.

We ambled out of the jeep and into the office. To my surprise, the interior had been transformed and smelled of fresh paint. The walls had been painted a light grey, and the front window had a newly installed white shade. The cheap, ugly furniture had been replaced with new, clean, high quality pieces—a new black leather couch, a cherry wood table set, two white wingback chairs, and a cherry executive desk with a black leather chair for Connie. The door to Vinnie's old office was closed.

"Mornin'," said Connie, typing into her sleek new desktop computer.

"Hi," I said. "Wow, this place looks great."

"Yeah," said Connie. "It's amazing what happens when you're not working for a scumbag."

Connie's hair was piled on the top of her head, and her makeup was flawless. Her black sweater was tight across her massive chest, and her grey pencil skirt was tight in all the right places. I noticed Lester was appreciating the view and elbowed him in the kidney. He let out a woosh of air that announced I'd hit my mark.

"Anything new come in today?"

"No. It's quiet," she said, sipping her coffee. "I haven't written any bonds yesterday or today either. I imagine Vinnie's regulars are calling his personal phone. I have no idea if he's going to be writing bond again or not. I think he was burned out, so I wouldn't be surprised if he joins the family business instead."

"Family business?" I questioned.

"Harry's business," Connie clarified.

Vinnie's father in law, Harry the Hammer, was mob. He had underwritten the office for years.

"Ah."

"Who knows what he'll do," said Connie. "He probably doesn't have the balls. Plus, he's too busy getting whippings from Madam Zoretsky and scheduling nooners with his happy endings masseuse to focus on wet work."

That wasn't a pretty mental image.

"If business doesn't pick up, Ranger might have to think about advertising."

I had a mental flashback to the horrible ads Vinnie had run of Lula and I last time business was slow.

"No thanks. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt."

Connie laughed. "I don't think Ranger would put you on a bus or billboard."

"Have you heard anything from Lula?" I asked.

"Nope," said Connie. "Not a word. So what's the plan for today?" she asked, glancing over at Lester.

"Lester is riding with me today. We're going to work on Fran Gilmer, Leo Zacharias, and Dickie."

"Good luck with Dickie," Connie laughed. "He's been kidnapped, he's underground, or he's dead. I've been calling around. Nobody's heard a thing from him, and he's not answering his phone. The other two should be easy enough. They're not career criminals, just old."

"That's not good about Dickie," I acknowledged. "We'll work on the other two first. Keep your ear to the ground."

"Maybe he heard his ex-wife is hunting him like a dog," joked Lester. "I'd skip town too if I knew you were coming after me."

Connie laughed, and I rolled my eyes so far back in my head I think saw my brain.

"Watch it, Santos," I warned Lester.

"If you stop back by this way, bring me lunch," said Connie. "I'm not going to be able to get away today, and I'm starving."

"Will do," I said. "Hopefully we'll have a body receipt when we see you."

* * *

Lester and I hit the road for north Trenton to check on Fran Gilmer. He lived relatively close to my apartment building, so I was familiar with the neighborhood.

"What's this guy's charge?" Lester asked me, checking e-mails on his phone.

"Driving without a license. This one should be easy."

"Sure," Lester said, sounding unconvinced. "How old is he?"

"Seventies."

"Old guys can be wily," said Lester.

"I've got this," I said confidently. "I've dealt with my fair share of old folks before. I can still outrun the ones on Geritol."

We drove into the parking lot of a two-story brick apartment building. The sign read "Happy Acres Retirement Living." I know from Gilmer's file that he drove an older model Mercury Grand Marquis. I scanned the lot, finding the red behemoth toward the back of the lot parked into a retaining wall. Perfect. I parked my Jeep behind it, hoping to head off any attempt to flee. I knew the car being here didn't mean Fran was home, but I took it as a positive sign. He didn't seem to care he wasn't supposed to be driving, and I didn't suspect a night in jail had done much to change that perspective.

"How do you want to do this?" Lester asked, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Let's go knock and see if he's home. If he's here, we'll ask him to go to the courthouse and reschedule."

"Do you think that's going to work?"

"No," I admitted. "Do you have any better ideas?"

"Not really. You're the bounty hunter."

"Exactly. Let's go."

We trudged through the lot, into the building, and up the stairs to apartment 2C. The building was dated with teal carpet and pink patterned wallpaper on the walls. It smelled like a combination of pea soup, body odor, and Lysol-that is to say, it didn't smell great. I rapped on the door and waited.

Nothing.

I knocked again, louder.

"Mr. Gilmer? Are you home?" I said loudly into the door.

I heard a door behind me, and I turned to find an older woman peering out her door at Lester and me.

"I don't think he's home," the woman said cheerfully. "It's been quiet for a while."

"When was the last time you saw him?" I curiously asked. "I really need to speak with him."

She shrugged. "Three or four days. I usually see him at the congregate meal site on days he doesn't work, but I haven't seen him. I haven't seen him at the library either."

That wasn't promising. I thanked the woman, and she shrank back into her apartment, closing the door. I knocked again. When there was no response, I tried the handle. Locked.

"Damn," I huffed under my breath.

Lester winked at me, reached into his cargo pants, and pulled a slim tool. In a matter of seconds, he had the door unlocked. We pushed the door open, and we were immediately hit by a horrifying odor. I'd seen enough dead people to know the smell, and I immediately pulled the door closed again.

"Shit," I sighed, rubbing my hands over my face.

"I didn't see that coming," said Lester.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and made a call. We went to the lot to wait, and ten minutes later, a cop car and EMT pulled in.

I greeted them at the door and introduced myself.

"Yeah, we know who you are," said a paramedic. "We've been to your place before. How ya doin'?"

"I've been better," I admitted. I showed them my capture papers for Gilmer and explained the situation.

"You didn't kill him, did ya?" joked the paramedic.

"No way. Based on the smell, he's been dead a while," I said grimly.

We all went up to the apartment, and the EMTs went in. I did some mouth breathing and foot shuffling, and I looked anywhere but into the apartment. I really didn't enjoy looking at dead guys.

"You're right. He's been dead a while," said the paramedic.

I gritted my teeth. Dead meant a lot of paperwork.

"Does it look like a homicide?" I asked cautiously.

"No, it looks like he settled in to eat dinner while watching Wheel of Fortune and kicked the bucket," said the paramedic.

"I need to call Connie," I told Lester. "Do me a favor. Go take a picture of the dead guy."

"You have got to be kidding me," said Lester, looking pissed.

"Just do it, please," I instructed, punching a button on my phone and holding it to my ear.

"Only because you asked so nice," Lester said, grumbling as he entered the apartment.

"We found Fran Gilmer," I grimly told Connie when she answered.

"You're on a roll!" said Connie. "Don't sound so pleased."

"He's dead," I replied.

"Did you kill him?" Connie asked.

"No, we found him this way. Can you work on getting the paperwork from the coroner?"

"Sure," Connie said. "Find out where they're taking him, and I'll work on it."

I disconnected and got the info Connie needed from the paramedics. Then Lester and I headed back to the Jeep.

"Well, that was fun," Lester said sarcastically. "What's next?"

"Let's swing by my apartment and take a load back to Rangeman while we're in the neighborhood."

We drove the half mile to my apartment building and parked in the lot. There was ample parking up front, with most of the parking lot empty. It was eerie seeing it so quiet.

"I know it's none of my business, but are you moving in with Ranger?" Lester asked.

"Yeah, I think so," I said. I worried my bottom lip between my teeth.

"I see you're really excited," joked Lester. "Carlos must really like you to want to live with you."

I unbuckled my seat belt and jumped out of the Jeep.

"He'll like me until he has to live with me," I admitted.

"Oh, don't sell yourself short, beautiful," Lester said, jumping out of the Jeep. "I think Ranger's been lonely living by himself all these years. It'll be a nice change of pace for him. Plus, you two are a great pair."

Lester's confidence in Ranger's and my relationship was reassuring, but it didn't ease my worries.

* * *

It took us twenty minutes to load up the Jeep, packing in boxes, bags, and whatnot. Once the back was loaded full, we pointed ourselves in the direction of Rangeman. We parked the Jeep in the garage and unloaded my belongings into the room in the basement Ranger had allocated for my storage.

I heard my cell phone chirp and checked the readout. It was Ranger.

"Hello?"

"Babe."

"Hey, I was just getting ready to head back to the bonds office."

"Do you have lunch plans?"

"I thought I'd mooch lunch at my mom's. Then I was going to take Connie lunch before working on Leo Zacharias."

"Rain check lunch with your family. I'll have lunch delivered for Connie. I need to talk to you. We can do it over lunch. Tell Lester to go to lunch, and meet me in my office."

He disconnected before I could argue.

"Go to lunch," I told Lester. "I need to see Ranger."

"What time should I be back here?" he asked.

"No clue," I responded earnestly. "I don't know what he wants. I'll text you."

"Have a good lunch," said Lester, winking at me as he unlocked his car.

I blew out a sigh and trudged to the elevator. I pushed the "up" button and climbed in when the door slid open.

The elevator stopped at the second floor, and the door slid open. Morelli stood at the door, waiting. He was freshly showered, water droplets clinging to the tips of his hair. He smelled heavenly. He was out of his Rangeman uniform, instead wearing blue jeans, tennis shoes, a navy-blue t-shirt, and a plaid button-down shirt open in front.

I slid over, making room in the middle of the elevator and leaning my back to the wall.

"Hey," I said softly.

He nodded, pressing the button to the fourth floor.

The awkwardness between us lay thick in the small elevator.

"You here all day?" I inquired.

He nodded again. "All day, every day. That b…. b…. boyfriend of yours insists on having me in t…. t…. top form when we start working together."

The elevator door opened to the fourth floor, and Morelli walked out. He turned back to me, holding the door, his eyes questioning.

"Do you mind?"

"Mind?" I asked, not sure what he was asking.

"Mind that I work here now," he asked. "M… mind that you're stuck with me."

I considered the question. Having Morelli as a partner would have its advantages. We were old friends, and I enjoyed being around him. I trusted he'd protect me, and I assume he knew I'd do the same for him—at least to the best of my ability. Historically, we'd worked together a little bit, and it didn't always go great. My biggest fears were setting boundaries and protecting my emotions. My brain knew I was in a committed relationship with Ranger, but my body and libido seemed to betray me occasionally. I hoped it would get better with more time.

"No," I said, "I don't mind."

Morelli nodded. "It's good to have you b… back in my life, even if it's only like this," he admitted. "Off to speech therapy."

With that, he left and the elevator doors slid closed.

When I entered Ranger's office, he was on the phone. He motioned for me to sit, so I did.

When his call was finished, he turned to me and studied my face. Tension lingered in his face, creasing the corners of his eyes and the skin between his brows.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I need to go out of town for a couple of days," he said, leaning back in his chair. "My mom scheduled surgery for tomorrow in Newark. I want to be with her and my dad."

"Oh gosh, Ranger. Is there anything I can do?"

Ranger shook his head, sadness lingering in his eyes.

I knew Ranger's father had said she was considering surgery, but this seemed like a fast turnaround. I worried for his mother, and for Ranger too.

"Ready?" he asked, and I nodded in response. "Would you like to go out or stay in?"

"Let's stay in," I suggested, guessing Ranger wasn't in the mood to venture out. I wasn't really feeling the dine-out experience myself today.

He ushered me out of the office, locking up behind us. He placed his hand in the small of my back and led me to the elevator, where we rode to the top floor. He let me in to his apartment, leaving his keys and phone on the table by the door.

We headed into the kitchen, where Ranger began fishing around in the refrigerator. He came out with two bottles of water and some covered plates, which he set on the bar.

"I love your magic refrigerator. My refrigerator never magically sprouted food," I joked.

"It's your refrigerator now, too. That is, if you want it to be."

I nodded, doing my best to quell the panic in my chest. This was going to be fine. Why was I such a commitment-phob? Get it together Stephanie, I told myself.

He uncovered a plate and set it in front of me. It had broccoli salad, a turkey sandwich on multi-grain, and fruit salad. He uncovered his plate and sat next to me, so closely that I could feel his body heat radiate into my skin.

"Did you have a good morning?" he asked, taking my hand and lacing his fingers in mine. My heart rate kicked up a notch, his physical presence intoxicating my senses.

"Good? No. But I got shit done," I said confidently, forking into my broccoli salad.

He raised an eyebrow at me, so I told him about Fran Gilmer and hauling a load of stuff out of my apartment. He chewed his lunch thoughtfully as I talked, listening intently.

"How was the range?" asked Ranger.

I wasn't sure if this was meant to be a loaded question, so I responded with a simple, "Fine."

He looked pleased. "You aren't broken out in hives. I'm relieved to know you're not allergic to your gun."

"I guess it wasn't awful," I admitted, popping a bite of fruit into my mouth. "Lester gave me some pretty good tips. Morelli is still a hell of a shot, though," I admitted. "I guess you were right."

Ranger looked thoughtful for a moment before responding. "Babe, if he makes you uncomfortable, we can find you a different partner. He's of benefit on my payroll either way."

I turned my body slightly so my knee was touching Ranger's, our hands still clasped together.

"I trust you," I said, echoing his words from yesterday. "I just don't trust myself," I admitted sadly.

I placed my head on his shoulder and breathed in his intoxicating scent. Somehow, Ranger grounded me. His presence, his unwavering belief in me, and his air of self-confidence could always calm me.

"I know. Let's take it one day at a time," Ranger said, standing. He placed his hands on both sides of my face, his lips crashing down onto mine. His kiss was like fire, burning up any thoughts I'd had of Morelli and leaving only thoughts of Ranger.

He pressed himself between my legs, and I wrapped them around his waist. He lifted me, carrying me to the couch, where he laid me on my back. He settled between my legs, holding most of his weight off my body on his elbows. He kissed me with a lot of tongue, his hands everywhere. Every touch seared like fire, and I found myself whimpering into his kiss. I ran my fingertips down his back with one hand in his hair. I was out of breath and my heartrate was around stroke level.

He broke the kiss, placing his hands on each side of my face and staring intently into my eyes.

"What?" he asked, seeing something in my face.

"Nothing," I breathed. "Don't stop."

Worry lines creased his forehead.

"Don't do that," he said, frustration apparent in his tone. "What is it?"

I thought about lying or continuing to insist nothing was going on, but Ranger knew me too well for that. Instead, I opted to put the truth on the table.

"I'm scared," I whispered.

Ranger's brow furrowed.

"Not of me, I hope."

"No, no," I insisted, my voice wavering "Of screwing this up."

With that, a single tear slid down my cheek and I closed my eyes to do some deep breathing.

"Stephanie Michelle Plum, I love you more than I've ever loved anyone or anything on this planet," Ranger said gently. "I hope you know you're everything to me."

I opened my eyes and saw Ranger's loving gaze staring down at me. He brushed away the tear that had fallen, then kissed the same place.

"Oh crap," I sighed, more tears welling up in my eyes. "This is embarrassing. I'm a blubbering idiot."

Ranger let a light laugh escape before his face became serious once more.

"You're cute, Babe. We're in this together, and I'm not going anywhere until you tell me to go away. Up until that point, I'm yours through all of it. The toasted cars, your crazy family, your asbestos-filled apartment… All of it. I'm yours as long as you want me."

With that, his lips crashed down onto mine again as I promised myself I was going to do everything I could to fight my fear of commitment.


	10. Chapter 10

I sat cross-legged on the bed, pulling on my clothes while Ranger rummaged around in his walk-in closet. I was feeling happy after a couple rounds with Ranger, and I'd almost forgotten I was hungry. Almost.

"Do you need help in there?" I asked.

"No," he said, coming out holding a black polo shirt in his hands. He was barefoot in black cargo shorts. He was freshly showered and preparing to head out of town.

"I'm going to miss you," I said sadly. "Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" I asked.

"No, it will only be a few days," Ranger said, pulling his shirt on over his head. "I'll let you know how things are going. If she's up to visitors, you can come up for a few hours."

I shimmied into my cargo pants and buttoned them on before climbing out of bed. I crossed to Ranger and wrapped my arms around his waist, breathing him in.

"Are you going to be okay?" I asked in a serious tone.

Ranger nodded yes, but his face gave away his sadness.

"I'm really sorry," I said, rubbing his back. "If you need anything, please let me know. I'm only a phone call away, or an hour by car."

"Thanks, Babe," he said, giving me a peck on the lips. He went in the closet and began setting items into an overnight bag. I went to the bedside and unplugged his chargers for his smartwatch and phone, then went into the bathroom to grab his travel accessories that Ella kept tidy in a black zippered bag—toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, deodorant, travel size shower gel and shampoo, small shaving cream, razor, and a small first aid kit. I took the items to Ranger, and he placed them in his bag. Once packed, he put on socks and tennis shoes, then headed out of the bedroom.

We quickly finished what remained of our partly-eaten lunch while Ranger checked e-mails on his phone.

"Tank is in charge while I'm gone. All anyone here knows is that I'll be in the wind, but you know how to reach me if you need me," he said between bites. "Ximena should be back in Trenton tonight, so between her and Lester, you'll be covered. In a pinch, take Morelli with you."

I thought about questioning him, but decided against it. I had to admit Joe could shoot, and since Lester and Ximena were family, I wasn't sure if they'd be needed in Newark at some point to support their aunt.

Ranger and I lingered in the foyer, our bodies pressed tightly together. I knew he needed to go, but I couldn't help feeling a sense of loss over his sudden departure. He didn't seem too eager to leave, so we simply held one another for a long time before sharing a passionate goodbye kiss.

"Make yourself at home while I'm gone," Ranger whispered into my ear. "This is your home. I want to make you happy."

Then he left, taking his phone, his bag, and the keys to his Porsche Cayenne.

* * *

I texted Lester from my office around 2 PM letting him know I was ready to roll. He arrived in my office minutes later.

"How was lunch?" I asked him.

"Probably not as good as yours," he said, winking at me.

I felt a scarlet scald rise in my cheeks, but I tried to ignore his implication. "Turkey on multi-grain was healthy, but not particularly satisfying."

"Sure," he scoffed. "Where are we off to now, Beautiful?"

"The Burg. We need to find Leo Zacharias, and I can ask around about Dickie while we're there."

We drove my Jeep into the Burg. Leo and Garnetta Zacharias lived on a quiet street in a two-story bungalow that was painted light green with yellow trim. I circled the block several times, creeping by to orient myself to the neighborhood. There was a gravel alley and a detached garage with the door closed behind the house. The front of the house seemed quiet, with no visible lights inside and no cars parked on the street. The house had a well-maintained postage-stamp front yard with bird bath, bird feeders, and a ceramic statue of the virgin Mary.

"I'm going to knock on the front door. You cover the back to make sure he doesn't run," I told Lester.

"Isn't this guy about a hundred and ten years old?" Lester asked. "I don't see him running."

I pulled Leo's file out of my bag and began reading to Lester.

"Leo Zacharias, age eighty-three. Arrested for assault after brutalizing a waitress with his HurryCane…."

"Oh shit!" Lester laughed. "Better watch out for this one. Alright, I've got the back."

We climbed out of the Jeep, and Lester circled around the house through the small yard. I gave him a few seconds to get in place before I rang the doorbell.

An older woman opened the door. She was wearing a light blue house dress with matching slippers, and her hair was neatly rolled into tight curlers. She wore thick glasses, and her lips were lined with bright pink lipstick.

"May I help you?" she asked in her wavering old lady voice.

"Hi, are you Garnetta Zacharias?" I asked politely.

"Why yes, dear! That's me. How can I help you?"

"My name is Stephanie Plum. I came by looking for Leo."

"Oh my, I'm sorry dear. He's not home right now. He went on one of those seniors' bus trips to Atlantic City. He left early this morning. He should be back in time for dinner tonight."

"Okay, thanks. I'll check back tonight."

"Should I tell him you stopped by?" she asked.

"No," I said, worried he might get spooked. "I'll check back later. Thank you!"

I headed back to the car and texted Lester.

"Not home?" Lester asked as he climbed into the car.

"Nope. Seniors trip to Atlantic City. We can come back tonight."

"Damn," he grumbled.

"What?"

"I have a date."

"Seriously?" I said, disbelieving. "I thought you were mine all day."

"What can I say? I don't let the grass grow under my feet."

"No kidding," I said. "I guess I'll have to wait until Ximena is back in town tonight to check up on Leo. Does this poor unsuspecting woman know you're a player?"

"She ought to," Lester said, winking. "It's Connie."

"You're kidding," I scoffed.

Lester looked pleased with himself. "I took her lunch and invited her to dinner. She said yes."

I was dumbfounded. Connie must be feeling either adventuresome or desperate. Either way, I knew she'd be getting laid tonight.

"Call Carl and Manuel," I instructed Lester. "It's time to empty out my apartment."

Sadness ate at me as I drove across town. I think Lester could sense I was having a hard time, because he was quiet too. I parked in my lot, and Lester and I trudged up to my apartment, my shoes feeling like they had lead inserts. Lester carried my luggage and necessary personal items to the Jeep while I quickly packed up my bathroom, shoving everything into two boxes—one for storage and one of items I'd need. I debated on cleaning the bathroom before I left, feeling slightly embarrassed about the soap scum in the shower and toothpaste marks in the sink but decided against it. I needed to get packed up and get out.

Carl and Manuel arrived as Lester and I carried the boxes from the bathroom down the stairs. They held the outside door for us, and I loaded the box with necessities into my Jeep as Lester loaded the other box into a black Suburban.

"We'll load anything Steph needs into her Jeep," Lester told the men. "The rest will go into storage."

"The couch and chair can go in the dumpster," I told Carl and Manuel as we ascended the stairs.

The two men began hauling out my furniture as I packed my office items, with Lester taping boxes together for my use.

"I'm sorry you've got to move, Steph," Lester said quietly. "I know how much you like living here."

"Eh, it's not even that," I said, setting a cup of writing instruments into a box. "This is a crummy apartment. I just like the independence it represented."

"What do you mean?"

I sighed audibly. "I moved in here after my divorce. It was a clean break—a fresh start. It was all I could afford, but it was mine. I was determined to come out better on the other side of the marriage, and instead of trying to conform as I always had, I adopted fierce independence."

"That you are," Lester smiled. "You're hella independent."

"It doesn't feel that way anymore," I grumbled, wrapping the cord around a power strip. "Moving in with Ranger feels weak. It feels like I'm giving up my independence, like I'm trying to play housewife or something."

"Well that's dumb," Lester scoffed matter-of-factly.

"What?" I said, raising an eyebrow at him.

"You're not a housewife, Steph," Lester explained. "You're anything but. Can't you see that? You've got a career, and a man who supports you in that career. He pays someone to do his laundry, prepare meals, and vacuum the floors—he doesn't expect you to do that. Hell, he doesn't want you to do that. If he wanted a woman like that, he wouldn't be with you. You and I both know he could have any woman he wanted, but he wants you. Besides, he's seen your apartment, and he knows you can't cook."

I threw a small pad of sticky notes at Lester, hitting him square in the chest. We both laughed out loud, knowing Lester spoke the truth about my cooking. It wasn't pretty.

"Thank god for Ella," I laughed.

"Seriously, Steph," said Lester, his tone serious. "We both know I'm not usually one to pretend I know much about committed relationships, but what you've got with Ranger is what I hope to have someday. You two belong together. It's like gravity—there is some unseen force that pulls you two together no matter how hard you guys fight it. I've seen it for years. I'm glad he finally quit fighting it. Now it's time for you to do the same."

After an hour, my meager belongings and Rex were loaded in the SUVs. I gave Dillon the cold six-pack that I'd had in my fridge and gave him a hug goodbye, thanking him for everything. I told my empty apartment a tearful goodbye and left. Carl and Manuel followed Lester and I back to Rangeman, and we unloaded items into storage under the building.

"Do you need help getting the rest to the apartment?" Lester asked, gesturing at my Jeep.

"No. It's only a few loads. You better go get ready for your date, but thanks."

"No problem. Good luck catching your skip tonight."

Lester took the elevator into the building, and I began loading items out of the Jeep. After four loads, my vehicle was empty and a sizable pile of items had accumulated in Ranger's foyer. I settled Rex into his new home on the kitchen counter, then I did some mental knuckle-cracking, trying to figure out what to do with my stuff.

First, I took the box of items from my refrigerator and pantry to the kitchen. I put away the refrigerated items, popping a few olives in my mouth as I worked. Then I put the dry goods in the pantry, noticing my sugar-and-preservative-laden choices looked nothing like Ranger's whole-grain, fat-free, and no-sugar-added foods.

I wandered into the bedroom closet to survey the situation, and I was surprised to find that Ranger's clothing had been condensed, opening nearly half of the closet for my items. I opened drawers near the empty shelves and found them to be empty, too.

A large envelope caught my attention. It was sitting on an empty shelf, and my name was scrawled across the front in Ranger's handwriting. I picked it up and sat cross-legged on the floor to open it.

I slid the items out of the envelope. On top was a note.

_Stephanie,_

_Take all the space you need in the closet. If you need more room, ask Ella. She can help. There are two empty drawers in the bathroom for you._

_If there is anything you'd like replaced or changed in the apartment, do it. I'm not attached to any of the furniture. You might also like to select a desk or workspace. This is our home, and I want you to be comfortable in it. Use the enclosed card._

_Call me if you need anything. I love you._

_Carlos_

I couldn't help it—the warm, fluttery feelings were back in my stomach. This was unexpected.

I slid the note aside and found a blue VISA issued to Ricardo C. Manoso taped to a sheet of paper. I hadn't seen this card before. A pin was scrawled in Ranger's handwriting as well as the billing address. I slid that piece of paper aside and found a Pottery Barn catalog. I flipped through it, admiring the perfectly coordinated, expertly designed rooms.

Ranger's apartment could have been featured in this catalog, but I knew Ella was responsible for the décor—not Ranger. Ranger had more important things to do than select linens or match throw pillows. Though I was no Suzy Homemaker, the thought of picking out new furniture was tempting. Ranger's furniture was great, but I'd never actually bought new furniture. Everything I'd ever had was hand-me-down, including the furniture Dickie and I shared for the week we'd been married. I slid the contents back into the envelope, setting it aside for another time.

I put my clothes in the closet and personal care items away in the bathroom. I placed some items in and on the emptied bedside table, and I was officially settled in. I'd anticipated some anxiety to follow, but it never came. Somehow, it was almost comfortable. How weird is what?

I checked the time. It was after four, so I changed out of my Rangeman uniform, opting instead for blue jeans, a girly cut white t-shirt, and grey running shoes. It felt good to be back in my usual Stephanie attire. I went into Ranger's immaculate kitchen, poured myself a bowl of Lucky Charms with milk, gave Rex a few pieces of cereal, and ate sitting next to Rex's cage.

"What do you think of our new digs?" I asked Rex, who was running on his wheel.

He didn't hesitate, so I took that as a good sign. All was right in Rex-world.

I dialed Ximena. She answered on the second ring.

"Chica, how's it going?"

"Good. When will you be back in town?"

"Not 'til late," she responded. "I'd hoped to be back sooner, but I got tied up here. Do you need something?"

"I'm going to attempt a takedown this evening and was hoping you'd tag along."

"Oh chica, I'd love to if I could! I'm sorry. Can it wait until tomorrow?"

"Maybe," I responded, disappointed. "Drive safe, and I'll see you soon."

I disconnected and considered my options. I could go alone, but I figured Ranger would be pissed if he found out. I could call Lula, but that might be worse than going alone. I could go to the control room and ask for volunteers. I could ask Tank for help. Or I could call Joe.

None of these options were appealing. I considered waiting until tomorrow to go back to Leo's, but I knew I had a pile of other skips that needed pursued. I let out a frustrated sigh of defeat and called Morelli.

"Hi," he answered.

"Hi yourself," I said. "What are you doing?"

"Getting ready to hea…. Head home. What's up?"

"I need a favor."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Morelli and I sat in silence in my Jeep headed for the Burg.

I parked in front of Gioviccini's Deli and Meat Market.

"Hungry?" Morelli questioned.

"Maybe a little," I admitted, "but I'm here for the gossip."

Morelli's serious cop face was in place, showing no emotion. I filled him in about Dickie.

"I thought I'd stop in to see if anybody's heard anything that might be of use since Leo won't be home yet. You can stay here, or you can come in. It will just take a minute."

I hopped out of the Jeep and headed for the door. To my surprise, Joe followed.

I got in line behind Mrs. Gonzales, who was ordering a variety of deli meats and prepared salads from the counter. Joe stood close, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot while we waited.

"Next," Gina Giovaccini lamented form behind the counter as Mrs. Gonzales shuffled away.

"Hey Gina," I greeted pleasantly.

"Hey Stephanie. How's it…. Oh my god, hey Joe. How ya doin'?" Gina said, turning her attention to Morelli.

Morelli gave Gina a polite nod, but he didn't speak.

"I was wondering when we'd be seeing you. It's been a long time. Can I get you anything?" Gina asked, wiping her hands on her apron.

Joe shook his head no and gestured to me.

"Can I get half a pound of deli smoked ham and a half a pound of swiss cheese, please?" I asked politely.

"Sure thing," she said, slipping into food service gloves.

"Have you heard anything about Dickie?" I inquired as she poked around in the deli case.

"I guess you must be trying to find him, huh? Not much," Gina admitted. "Lots of speculation, but nothing worth repeating. Sounds like he may be in real trouble this time."

"What kind of trouble?" I asked.

"Rumor has it he's in over his head with some bad clients at his new firm," said Gina. "Human trafficking or something. He knew too much, so now he's either hiding or at the bottom of the Delaware."

"Yikes," I said. "Sounds serious."

She set two white paper packages on top of the deli case. "No kidding. Can I get you anything else?"

"No, thanks for your help."

"Good to see you, Joe," said Gina. "Don't be a stranger."

I grabbed a package of sandwich rolls off the bakery shelf and checked out, then Joe and I went back to the Jeep.

"What do you make of that?" I asked him, buckling in.

Joe shrugged. "Hard to tell. T… trafficking is a real problem here. Might wa…" He paused and collected himself, focusing on his words. "You might want to check a list of Dickie's clients."

"Smart," I said, turning over the engine. "Let's go to his firm. You doing okay?" I asked, noticing for the first time that Joe looked exhausted. Dark circles were embedded under his eyes, and his eyelids appeared heavy.

"I'm fine," he said, wiping his palms on his thighs.

We drove to Dickie's firm on State Street. It was a massive, two story colonial that had been updated and modified into an office building. A sign reading "Fitch, Rhoads, and Orr" was prominently displayed, and a concrete parking lot filled the space next to the building.

I parked in the lot, and we went in the front door.

"May I help you?" the woman at the front desk asked, clearly surprised to have walk-in traffic this late in the day. She was a small woman with dark hair wearing a pale green blouse neatly tailored grey pantsuit.

"Is Dickie here?" I asked her, placing my forearms on the countertop of her tall desk.

"No, I'm sorry, he's not available right now," she responded.

"When would it be possible to see him? It's urgent."

"I'm sorry, I wish I knew," she said. "Can I help you with something? Or maybe another of our attorneys?"

"Stephanie Plum," I said as introduction. "I represent Dickie's bail bondsman. He failed to appear for his court date, and I need him to reschedule."

The woman's face became very serious and she leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper.

"Mr. Orr seems to be missing,"

"Define missing."

"He hasn't been to work since last Monday. No one has been able to reach him," she said, looking worried.

I glanced at Morelli, who had his cop face firmly in place. He was processing what he was hearing, but he seemed content to let me take the lead.

"Do you think it's possible he left town?" I asked her.

"I suppose anything is possible, but it seems unlikely. He has been devoted to this firm since buying in as partner. He has several big cases coming to trial this month, and I can't imagine he'd miss them. He's spent long hours preparing."

"Would it be possible to take a look in his office? Or get a list of his clients?"

"Why, no, dear. I'm sorry. Attorney-client privilege and whatnot. I can let him know you called on him if I hear from him," she said hopefully.

"No, that's alright," I said. I didn't think she'd be hearing from Dickie anytime soon. He was a creep, but he was a decent lawyer. Something was definitely going on for him to go M.I.A. with cases on the schedule.

We thanked the woman and went back out to the Jeep.

"He's dead," Joe said once we were settled in the Jeep. "You need to w…. walk away from this."

"I think he's dead too, but I can't walk away," I admitted. "This is my job."

"Cupcake, I…." he stopped himself.

Our eyes held, and something unspoken passed between us.

"I'm not your Cupcake anymore, Joe."

He blew out a sigh and rubbed his hands over his face.

"Sorry. Can we run by my hou…. House?" Joe asked. "I thought I'd be home by now. Ne… need to take meds."

"Sure," I said, shifting the car into gear and pulling out of the lot.

We drove in silence to Slater Street. I waited in the car while Joe went into the house.

While I waited, I called Connie.

"Hey," I said, "have you heard any more on Dickie?"

"No, why?" she asked.

"We ran by his firm just now, and if the lady at the desk is being honest, he's off the radar."

"Told ya," said Connie.

"Do you think you could get ahold of his client list?"

"I can try," Connie said. "I'll work on it."

"Thanks. I appreciate it. Have a good date tonight, by the way."

"You know it. What are you doing tonight?"

"Trying to bring in Leo Zacharias with Joe Morelli."

"Oh my god. You've got to be kidding me," Connie said. "How did that happen?"

"You didn't hear?" I asked.

"Hear what? Are you two back together?" Connie asked, sounding scandalized.

"Ranger hired him to be my partner," I told her.

"Oh shit," Connie replied. "You'd better get yourself a chastity belt."

* * *

Joe and I had time to kill before Leo would be back from his bus trip to Atlantic City, so I decided to risk mooching dinner at my parents' house.

As usual, Grandma Mazur was the first to the door.

"Well I'll be," she announced, scoping out Joe. "I didn't think we'd be seeing you. How're you?"

"Good, thanks," Joe replied, ascending the stairs to the front door.

"Helen was just setting out dinner. I'll put out two mores plates," she said, scrambling for the kitchen.

"Hi dad," I said to my father, who was sitting in his recliner in front of the television. I gave him a peck on the cheek, and he grunted in response.

"Hi, Frank," said Joe.

My father whipped around in surprise.

"Hey, Joe. I didn't know you'd be here."

"Me either," Joe said. "I was wor…. Working with Steph today."

"Working, huh?" my dad asked curiously.

"I got hired at Rangeman."

My dad's eyes shifted to me in question, but he said nothing.

"Ranger hired Joe as my partner," I said in explanation.

My dad rose to his feet and patted Joe on the shoulder. "Glad to hear it. I sure was disappointed when I heard you were off the force."

Joe's face showed a trace of sadness before he was able to mask it.

"Change can be good," he said.

Joe and my dad settled into the small dining room, where grandma had set two additional plates. I went into the kitchen, where my mother and grandmother were filling serving bowls and platters with dinner food.

"Hi mom," I greeted, giving her a kiss on the cheek. I handed over the purchases I'd made at Gioviccini's, knowing my mother would put them to good use. I had little use for groceries now since I had Ella.

"Good to see you, Stephanie. I wish I'd known you were coming tonight. I would have made something nicer for dinner."

"No worries, mom. If it's a problem, we can leave."

"I wouldn't hear of it," my mother said, spooning green beans into a bowl.

"Yeah, don't be silly. Your mother is just being modest," said Grandma. "She can put out a mean spread without even breaking a sweat."

My mother handed me a basket of rolls and a bowl of gravy.

"Help me set the table. What can I get you to drink? Wine? Beer?"

"Just water," I responded, pushing the door open with my back. "I have to work tonight. Morelli, too."

We settled into a comfortable dinner, with my mother and grandmother asking Joe lots of questions. He seemed to be holding up pretty well, but his stuttering seemed to get worse the longer dinner went on.

"Is that permanent?" Grandma asked after Joe fought his way through a sentence.

"Grandma!" I scolded. "Jesus, he got shot. That's rude. Give him a break."

"Sorry," Grandma apologized. "I was just addressing the unicorn in the room."

I rolled my eyes. "I think you mean elephant."

"No, I mean unicorn," said Grandma defiantly. "Elephants are gray, fat, and ugly. Unicorns are magical. I want to talk about unicorns, not ugly old elephants."

"It's fine," Joe responded, seemingly unaffected. "I don't know if its puh…. Permanent. I hope not. I'm working on it."

"Well, you're still a handsome devil," Grandma said, pouring more wine into her glass. "I'm glad you joined us tonight. You're welcome any time."

The phrase 'damaged goods' ran through my head, and I couldn't help but cringe.

"Where is Carlos tonight?" my mother asked, sipping what appeared to be iced tea.

Joe gave me the side eye. He was curious too.

"He's in Newark with his parents," I explained, forking into my meatloaf. "His mom is sick."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," said my mother. "I didn't realize he had family nearby."

"He has a big family," I explained. "Lots of siblings with nieces and nephews. A few of his cousins work with me. And he's got a daughter in Florida."

This caught my mother's attention.

"Carlos has a child?" she asked hopefully.

"Julie. She lives with his ex-wife."

My mother looked borderline joyful. She was having visions of step-grandchildren. Two points for Ranger.

"Cool your jets, mom. Julie doesn't come up this way much. I haven't seen her in years."

My mother looked disappointed. Scratch Ranger's points.

We had brownie sundaes for dessert, then Morelli and I left with a bag of leftovers.

"You want to take this home with you?" I asked him, gesturing to the bag.

"Sure, thanks," said Joe. "So you've met Ranger's parents?" he asked curiously.

"Yeah. I wasn't sure what to expect, but they're great. He looks like a younger version of his dad," I said, "but he is skeptical and questioning like his mom."

Joe took a minute to process that information. I stopped at a light on Hamilton Avenue.

"You know if he ever hurts you, I'll br… br…. I'll break his face, right?" asked Joe, his face betraying no emotion.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "I know."

He nodded acknowledgment as I stepped on the accelerator, pointing the Jeep in the direction of Leo Zacharias's house.

* * *

Morelli and I sat in silence at the curb in front of Leo's house. The curtains were drawn and the lights were off. We had knocked on the door, but no one answered. I'd called the home number, but I got the machine. I decided to wait, hoping my visit earlier hadn't spooked Leo to go out of town.

Despite Morelli's claim he was 'fine,' I could tell the long day had taken a toll on him. He was barely keeping his eyes open in the passenger seat, his large frame leaning against the door.

"How about I take you home?" I suggested.

"I'm fine," said Morelli, yawning.

"Will you at least lean your seat back and close your eyes then? There is nothing to see here. We just need to wait. I'm perfectly capable of doing that while you rest your eyes."

He complied, leaning his seat back and closing his eyes. In a matter of minutes, he was sound asleep, his breathing even.

I studied Joe's face. Though he still looked exhausted, his face looked younger when he slept. I'd studied this face hundreds of times before. It was familiar, comforting somehow. Sure, my relationship with Joe was done, but he was still one of my best friends. I couldn't not care about him.

* * *

At 8:37 PM, a white Lincoln Town Car pulled up in front of the house, and Leo and Garnetta climbed out of the back seat. They exchanged some pleasantries with the couple in the front seat, then began hobbling up the sidewalk to the front door, side by side, wielding canes and carrying Styrofoam carryout food boxes.

I slid my pepper spray in my jeans pocket and cuffs in my waistband, then slid quietly out of the car, careful not to wake Morelli.

"Leo?" I asked, walking up the sidewalk behind him.

He turned, surprised. He was wearing khaki chinos, brown leather loafers, a blue sweater, and wire framed glasses.

"Who are you?" he asked brusquely.

"I'm Stephanie," I said, walking closer to him. "You missed your court date, and I wanted to help you reschedule."

His face turned a shade of purple.

"That bullshit?" he fumed. "No way. I didn't do anything wrong. I ain't goin' to court."

"I don't care if you go to court," I said, inching my way closer to him. And that was the truth. I didn't care if he showed up for court. I just needed him to get re-bonded so he wasn't my problem anymore. "We just need to schedule another date."

"Ain't gonna happen," he said, walking away toward the front door.

In a split second, I closed the gap between us, slipping a cuff onto his left wrist.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed, trying to pull away from me. He dropped his box of food, and it spilled onto the sidewalk.

"Hey! Stop that!" Garnetta shouted, waving her cane at me. "He said no!"

"Sir, I represent your bail bondsman. I need to return you to the court," I said, trying to wrestle his right hand into the cuffs.

"No!" he shouted. He raised his cane, and before I could respond, he smacked me across the face with it.

I was momentarily stunned, and I released his arm. I collapsed to my knees, trying to steady myself. He raised the cane again, this time striking me across the cheek with the end. I cried out in pain and touched my cheek. I drew my hand back and saw blood through the tears welling up in my eyes.

"Get away from her!" I heard Morelli shout at Zacharias.

I stumbled to my feet and wiped the tears from my eyes. I saw Leo raise his cane again. Instinctively, I tore the pepper spray out of my pocket and sprayed him as the cane cracked me on the side of my head. For an old man, he had one hell of an arm. I fell to my knees again, hearing him roar like an angry bull. Before I realized what was happening, Morelli had Leo on the ground with both hands cuffed behind his back.

"My eyes! They're on fire!" Leo roared.

"You asked for it," Morelli said. "Don't you know you never hit a lady?"

"Stop!" shouted Garnetta, racing to Morelli. She opened the Styrofoam container she carried and threw a handful of its contents at Morelli. She repeated this three times, until all the food was gone and Morelli was head-to-toe mashed potatoes and gravy.

A cop car pulled to the curb, and Eddie Gazarra raced out. Eddie and I had grown up together, gone to school together, and he was married to my cousin, Shirley-the-Whiner.

"I got a call from the neighbors about a disturbance. What is going on…" he asked in his cop-voice, stopping mid-thought as recognition dawned on him. "Holy shit. Joe?"

"Assault! Arrest these people!" Garnetta shouted.

"Yeah," Joe croaked, wiping potatoes off his face. "It's me."

"What the hell?" said Eddie in disbelief.

"New job," said Joe as explanation. "Rangeman."

"Damn," said Eddie. "Didn't see that coming."

"I'm here too," I said, dragging myself to my feet. "Mr. Zacharias is my FTA."

"Oh shit, Steph. What happened?" Eddie said, closing the distance between us to examine my face.

"Cane to the face," I said, wiping the blood off my cheek onto my shirt.

"You need to get that looked at," Eddie said, gesturing at my face. "You've got an ugly gash."

"Get the hell off'a me!" Zacharias shouted at Morelli, who still had him on the ground.

In response, Morelli pulled him to his feet.

"Eddie, w… would you mind hauling this guy in as a favor?" asked Morelli. "I need to get Steph checked out. W… w…. we can stop by to get the paperwork tomorrow."

"Sure," said Gazarra. "We've got some catching up to do, Morelli. Let's get lunch sometime."

"Deal," said Morelli, handing over custody of Zacharias. "Thanks."

Eddie got Leo secured in the back of his cop car, and I handed over the paperwork giving me authority to capture. We thanked Eddie, and he climbed in his car and drove away.

Morelli studied my cheek and let out a low whistle. "He did a number on you."

"I'm fine," I said, rubbing the side of my head. "The cheek actually doesn't hurt that much, but I have a pounding headache."

"Let's get you checked out," said Morelli, taking off his mashed potato-covered plaid shirt and t-shirt.

"Sorry. Do you mind?" he asked, an air of awkwardness between us.

I swallowed and shook my head no. Why should I care? I'd seen him shirtless hundreds of times before. Plus, I didn't really want Garnetta's leftovers in my Jeep.

Joe used his shirt to wipe the remaining gravy out of his hair and off his pants before climbing into the Jeep.

I climbed into the driver's seat and buckled myself in. Joe's chest caught my eye, and I caught myself staring at his puckered pink skin where two bullets had penetrated his chest. I swallowed hard, looking away quickly, but Joe had caught me staring.

"It's ugly, huh?" he asked, touching the puckered flesh. "The one I t… took to the thigh hurt, but it healed up alright. These two have b…. been a real son-of-a-bitch."

"I'm sorry," I said softly.

"Not your fault," he said, buckling himself in. "I shouldn't have gone. Saint Francis?" he asked, changing the subject.

I shook my head. "I'll be fine. I just want to get home and to go sleep."

"My place then. I have steri-strips."

We drove the short distance to Joe's house and went inside.

"Can I get you a beer?" he asked politely, shucking his shoes at the door.

"Sure, thanks. I'll be in the bathroom," I responded, climbing the stairs to the upstairs bath.

I stared in the mirror and gaped in open-mouthed horror at my reflection. I was a disaster. A purple bruise was blooming across my left eye onto the side of my face. Black mascara was smudged around my eyes from my tears. A ragged gash ran from the side of my mouth to my jawline. At first glance, it didn't appear to be too deep, but it had bled a lot, trashing my white t-shirt. Worst of all, my hair needed an exorcist, consisting of nothing but frizz. Yikes.

I heard footsteps behind me and saw Morelli appear in the mirror.

"I'm a disaster," I lamented.

"If its any consolation, I've seen you look worse," he admitted, handing me a beer and setting his on the bathroom vanity.

"Thanks, I think. Got any Tylenol?" I asked, taking a pull on my beer.

He rummaged around in the cabinet and came up with a bottle. He handed it to me, and I fished two out, washing them down with my beer.

"Sit," he said, gesturing to the vanity. I slid onto the counter, and he rummaged around in a drawer, coming up with a variety of supplies.

He wet a dark colored cloth and added soap. "This may hurt," he warned.

"I'm fine," I responded.

He gently washed my cheek, and I gritted my teeth.

"Sorry," he said, studying the affected area. "You need stitches."

"No," I reassured him. "It's fine. Really."

He looked unconvinced, but took a bottle of antiseptic spray out of the drawer anyway. "Close your eyes," he said.

I did as I was told, and he sprayed my cheek. The sting took my breath away and brought tears to my eyes. I blinked back the tears as Morelli dried the area with a clean paper towel.

"Can you close it with the steri-strips?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Great."

He opened the box and removed several strips, laying them on the sink. As he took one in his fingers, I noticed his hands were trembling.

"Joe, are you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, why?" he asked, seemingly unconcerned.

"You're shaking," I said, gesturing at his hands.

"Yeah," he said, unworried. "It happens sometimes, especially at t… the end of the day. I'm used to it."

I longed to ask questions, but my head was pounding and I was experiencing an adrenaline crash. I drained my beer instead.

Joe held my wound closed and applied a steri-strip with trembling hands. He studied his handiwork, then repeated the process three more times before declaring I'd live.

Joe was standing between my knees, and his face was close to mine. He brushed my hair away from my face, leaving his palm on my uninjured cheek. My heart was pounding in my chest, panic rising over the situation I'd naively put myself in.

I started to speak, but before I could get a word out, Joe's lips met with mine. His kiss was soft and filled with longing. My brain was screaming for my body to stop, but my body failed to respond, returning the kiss as Joe wrapped his arms around me and pressed his body into me.

Joe broke to take a breath, and I tried to speak.

"Joe, I can't…"

His lips connected with mine again, cutting off my feeble attempt to stop what was happening between us. I turned my face away, and his lips found my neck. I closed my eyes, sighing with pleasure at the familiarity between us.

Joe tugged my ruined shirt over my head and tossed it aside, his lips connecting with mine again. He ran his hands over my back and onto my breasts, and I moaned into his mouth, my entire body shaking with anticipation.

He placed his hands under my thighs and lifted me, carrying me to the bed. He laid me down gently, my feet dangling off the bed. His hands were at the zipper of my jeans when an image of Ranger, having done the same thing to me earlier in the day, came to mind. My brain suddenly engaged and full-throttle panic ensued.

"Oh my god, Joe. I can't do this," I cried, pulling away from him. I shimmied off the bed and raced down the stairs.

"Steph, wait!" he shouted after me. "Please!"

I grabbed my messenger bag and car keys off the kitchen table and raced out the front door. It wasn't until I was driving down Slater Street in my Jeep that I realized I was only wearing a bra, my shirt having been abandoned at Morelli's. I turned onto Hamilton before bursting into tears of self-loathing.


	11. Chapter 11

I raced into the Rangeman garage in my Jeep, coming to a screeching stop in my assigned parking spot. My phone hadn't stopped vibrating the entire drive, but I'd refused to answer, choosing to ignore Joe's calls. I fled the vehicle and ran to the elevator in tears, frantically pushing the 'up' button until the doors opened. The elevator ride seemed to take an eternity as I nervously paced and ran my fingers through my hair. The doors opened, and I fobbed my way into Ranger's apartment.

I ran into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. I gazed at my reflection in the mirror. I still looked light fright-night, but now I had huge black mascara streaks running down my cheeks. Blood still streaked my neck, chest, and jeans, and the bruise was darker. I stared at myself, hating the woman I was seeing in the mirror while my inner dialogue ran wild.

_Stephanie, Stephanie, Stephanie. You ungrateful slut. You don't deserve Ranger. You screw everything up. He's been gone for a few hours to care for his mother, and you're off messing around with Morelli. You are a chronic fuck-up. You couldn't see a good thing if it slapped you upside the face…._

Without warning, the bathroom door slammed open, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Tank stood in the doorway in Rangeman fatigues, looking worried with sweat beading on his forehead.

"Bomber, you okay?" he asked, giving me a once-over from head to toe.

"What?" I asked, too stunned to form coherent thoughts. "What are you…?"

"Christ, Stephanie. You drove in like a bat out of hell, you're injured and bloody, and you're shirtless."

I realized he was right, so I crossed my arms in front of my chest in a futile attempt to cover up.

"I was in the control room and saw you on the cameras. What the fuck is going on?"

With that, I burst into sobs.

Looking visibly uncomfortable, Tank pulled his phone out of his pocket and typed something into it. Then he lifted me like a rag doll and carried me into the living room, where he laid me out on the couch.

"I'm fine," I sobbed. "I swear. Please… just go. I'm fine. I'm sorry," I said between gasps.

"I can't do that. Ranger would have my nuts."

I heard two fast raps on the door, and Tank let the visitor in.

"Shit, Chica," said Ximena, staring down at me over the back of the couch.

"I'm fine, really," I begged. "Adrenaline let-down. My face is already fixed. I just need a shower."

"Let me be the judge of that," Ximena said, circling to my side. She was dressed in a black blazer, a soft pink sheath dress, and black peep-toe pumps. "We're good here, Tank. I'll call if she needs anything."

Tank still looked worried, but he gave a single nod and left, the door clicking closed behind him.

Ximena kicked off her shoes and disappeared, then reappeared with a bag of ice and a wet cloth. She sat me up, placing the cool cloth on the back of my neck. Then she put the bag of ice in my hand, holding it to my bruised face.

"Hold that there," she instructed, dropping her backpack on the floor. "Are you bleeding from anywhere besides your face?" she asked.

I shook my head no. "It's already fixed," I explained as she poked around at the gash.

"It will suffice," said Ximena. "But dude, seriously. What the fuck is going on?"

I felt my bottom lip tremble, but I took a breath and steadied myself.

"A skip hit me a couple times with his cane," I said as explanation. "Take-down gone wrong."

Ximena pursed her lips. "Chica, I know about you. Your take-downs always go awry. Don't tell me that's what got you all worked up, because I wouldn't believe you."

I sighed. "I'm a mess. I screw everything up. Lester couldn't go. You couldn't either. Ranger told me to take Morelli in a pinch…. So I did."

"Did he hurt you?" she asked.

I shook my head no, wiping tears away.

"Force you?" she asked, her voice strained.

I shook my head no again.

"Thank god. I don't know anything besides he's your ex. I didn't know."

A pregnant silence sat between us. Ximena seemed to want more information, but I wasn't in the mood to share more.

"Let's get you cleaned up," said Ximena, dragging me toward the bathroom.

She turned on the hot water and set out a soft white towel.

"Take your time, but don't get your cut wet" she instructed. "I'll be here when you're done." Then she pulled the door shut.

I shed my clothes and climbed into the shower, letting the hot water wash away traces of my day. I lathered in Ranger's Bulgari green shower gel, causing a new round of tears as the scent I associated with him filled my senses. I washed my hair, taking time to let the conditioner set while I let out the last of the emotions that filled me.

I towel dried my body and hair, then wrapped myself tightly in the towel. I opened the bathroom door, and Ximena came in.

"Do you feel better?" she asked, checking me over.

I nodded.

"Good. You certainly look better. Sit," she said, flipping down the toilet seat and gesturing toward it.

I obeyed, holding the ice bag to my face again. Ximena began gently combing out my hair. Once she was done, she smoothed product into it and worked at it with the blow dryer. When she was satisfied it was dry, she ushered me into the closet.

"Dress," she said, closing the door for privacy.

I pulled on underwear, a pair of blue floral-patterned leggings, and a navy sports bra. I stared at Ranger's clothes for a long time before snagging one of his black t-shirts, tugging it over my head.

I shuffled out of the closet and into the main living space. Ximena was sitting on the couch with a giant bag of McDonalds, shoving fries into her mouth unceremoniously.

"Burger or chicken sandwich?" she asked, gesturing to the couch.

I collapsed into the seat, wrapping myself in a throw blanket. "Burger. Thanks."

We ate in companionable silence, then sat in silence some more. I laid my head back and studied the ceiling.

"It's none of my business, but did you sleep with him?" Ximena asked.

"No," I sighed. "Thank god. But he kissed me."

"And?" asked Ximena.

"I kissed him back," I admitted, feeling guilty to my core.

"Are you going to tell Ranger?"

"Don't I have to?" I asked rhetorically.

"No," she answered.

"What?" I asked in surprise.

"You don't have to tell him," said Ximena, scooting over so we were hip to hip and wiggling under the throw blanket. She assumed the same position I was in, laying her head back on the couch. "You feel like shit about this, right?"

"Of course. I feel horrible."

"Good," said Ximena. "Now channel that energy into making sure it doesn't happen again."

"He deserves to know," I responded grimly.

"He's a smart guy," Ximena said. "He'll probably figure it out. But he's not going to walk away from you. I didn't know it was possible for Carlos to be so attached to someone. Like it or not, that someone is you."

I swallowed hard.

"Instead of channeling your energy into this unhealthy pity-party bullshit, you need to use it to strengthen your resolve to stay faithful to Carlos."

Her phone chirped, and she sat up to check the readout. She typed something into the phone, then put it back in her pocket.

"Tank is worried about you," she said, "but I reassured him you're fine. I guess your shirtless entry caused quite the stir in the control room." She broke out in a smile from ear to ear. "You're quite an enigma here."

"Nobody has said anything to Ranger, have they?" I asked sheepishly.

"I doubt it. He's in the wind."

Ximena glanced at her smart watch.

"I've got a few things I need to do to get ready for tomorrow. Are you good if I scoot?"

"Sure," I said, glancing at the clock. "I'm exhausted anyway. I'm going to head to bed."

She wrapped her arms around me in a bear hug, then headed for the door.

"Thanks, Ximena."

"Anytime, Chica. Make sure you let Carlos know you're in safely for the night."

Ximena left, and I did as I was told. I texted Ranger that I was home, told him I loved him, and that I was going to bed. Then I collapsed into bed for a dreamless sleep.

I stirred in total darkness snuggled into Ranger's bed—now my bed too—unsure why I was awake. It definitely wasn't time to get up. The bedside clock read 4:15 AM. Something felt off, but I couldn't put my finger on what it was. I knew I was safe in the apartment. It was as secure as the Pentagon.

After a time, it occurred to me that I was snuggled into a warm body—one that hadn't been there when I climbed into bed. I recognized the body's energy. It was Ranger. I turned into his chest, and he stirred.

"Babe," he breathed, pulling me into him.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered to Ranger.

"Couldn't sleep," he mumbled almost incoherently.

I lay quietly in the safety of his embrace, and his breathing evened as he fell back asleep. Despite my attempts, I couldn't fall asleep again. Instead, I let my mind wander with thoughts of Ranger and what our future could look like now that we had formalized our relationship… now that we cohabitated.

Was I capable of a monogamous, committed, serious relationship? Surely I could do it. I'd given it a futile attempt with Dickie, but he had screwed that up—not me.

I had seen lots of relationships work. My parents had done it. So had my grandma and grandpa. Ranger had seen lasting relationships too. His parents had a happy marriage. I didn't used to think Ranger was programmed for serious, long term relationships, but now he was willing. I was genetically programmed for it, and so was he. He wanted it, and he wasn't afraid. So why was I so afraid?

As a child, I'd jumped off the garage roof thinking I could fly. As an adult, I ran blindly into chaos to bring bad men back into the court system. Fire bombs got shot into my apartment, and my cars got blown up. And somehow, I'd become addicted to living fast and the adrenaline that came with the lifestyle.

With Joe, I'd feared having my wings clipped. His vision of a future with me included me taking a desk job or staying home. It involved making dinner and having children. He didn't like my fast and chaotic lifestyle. Sure, he had cared about my safety and welfare, but he was willing to sacrifice my happiness to ensure my safety. He wasn't above cuffing me to the water heater to keep me out of trouble.

Ranger was different. He not only supported my chaotic life—he enabled it. He cared about my safety, but he ran into chaos to protect me instead of keeping me home. Sure, sometimes his protection seemed suffocating, but his intentions were always honorable. When I blew up cars, he replaced them. When I got injured, he put me on Rangeman's health insurance. When I was pursuing dangerous men, he made sure I had bullets in my gun. When psychos stalked me, he had his men follow me to protect me 24/7. He did these things without the promise of a relationship or financial gain. He never asked to conform or created any expectations. He did these things because he cared for me.

So what was it about Ranger that made me uncomfortable? It occurred to me that our uneven finances bothered me—a lot. He bled money to protect me. Plus, Ranger lived a lavish lifestyle I could never replicate on my own. Frankly, I feared getting too comfortable in his apartment with designer furnishings with a cook slash housekeeper. I feared I'd come to expect to drive fast, black cars and own designer clothing. I feared I was taking advantage of his kindness and generous spirit, and that made me extraordinarily uncomfortable.

Were finances really my hang up? The answer was a resounding 'yes.'

My mind raced back to a conversation Ranger and I had in Atlanta.

_I want you to let me take care of you,_ he had said. _I know you're an independent woman I'm not trying to take that away from you... But when I want to help you, please let me. Don't question my motives. _

At the time, I had begrudgingly agreed, but I had failed to truly internalize what that future would look like. With Morelli, finances were never discussed. We both scraped by. Sure, he had steadier finances than I did, but by no means was he wealthy. We'd both grown up in modest homes and had shared expectations about what life would look like. Never had I imagined a future living in a penthouse apartment with a boyfriend who drove fancy cars, looked like a Latino GI Joe doll, and loved me for being my crazy self. Could I…. would I… be okay living this near fantasy life?

I'd be an idiot to say anything but _yes_. I was head-over-heels in love with Ranger, and my future with him would be most girls' dream. So why was I so inclined to self-sabotage?

_Grow the fuck up, Stephanie,_ I told myself. _It's time to move forward with your life and quit questioning what you deserve. Everyone deserves to be happy, including you._

Ranger stirred, his silent alarm vibrating on his smart watch. He soundlessly rolled out of bed and crossed to the bathroom, closing the door without a sound so as not to disturb me. I had no idea when he'd come in during the night, but there was no way he'd had enough sleep for a normal human to function.

I rolled out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen, where I brewed a pot of coffee. While I waited for it to brew, I checked my phone. I'd had 15 missed calls, plus a variety of texts from Joe apologizing and asking me to call him. I'd also received a few missed calls from Ranger after I'd gone to sleep, which were followed by a text at 1:16 am letting me know he was coming home to sleep and not to accidentally shoot him when he entered the apartment.

Rex was asleep in his soup can, but I freshened his water while I waited. Stephanie Plum: Responsible hamster parent.

I poured Ranger a mug of coffee and took it into the bathroom, where I found him shaving with a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Morning, handsome," I greeted.

"Babe, you're up early," said Ranger, focusing in the mirror.

"Couldn't sleep, so I may as well get my day started."

Ranger rinsed his razor then glanced to me. He took a moment to study me, and his face fell.

"What happened to you?" he asked, making no effort to disguise his unhappiness.

I'd forgotten about my face. I looked at myself in the mirror, seeing the bruise had bloomed all along the side of my face and my cheek was puffy where the steri-strips held my gash together.

"It looks worse than it is," I explained, touching the injury. "Leo Zacharias's HurryCane is a dangerous weapon."

The muscles in Ranger's neck tightened, but his face was devoid of expression. He was trying to contain his emotions.

"I'll have to take Lester to the mats," he said, his voice flat.

"It's not Lester's fault. He wasn't even there. I had Morelli with me."

Ranger could no longer contain his emotions. His eyes burned with fire.

"He let this happen?"

"No," I said, realizing I was making this worse, not better. "He rode along with me, but he wasn't with me when I approached Leo."

"Where was Lester?" said Ranger, the muscles on his neck popping out.

"Uh…. Date?" I said, worrying I was throwing him under the bus.

Ranger ran a white cloth under the hot water and washed the remaining bits of shaving cream from his face. By the time he had finished, his demeanor was calm and in control again. He hung the cloth on the towel rack, dried his hands, and extended his arms to me.

I went to him, sinking into his strong embrace. He smelled of shaving cream and perspiration, and his freshly-shaven face was soft against my skin. After a time, he pulled away and studied my face, gently tracing his finger along my injured cheek.

"I'm sorry this happened to you," he said softly.

"I'm okay. Really," I insisted.

He tipped my face up to his, and his warm, brown eyes studied mine. His lips softly connected with mine, his kiss tender. I felt my body respond, fire curling through my belly. His kiss was filled with unspoken care and longing as he pulled me into him.

His lips traveled to my neck, and he gently suckled at my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

"I couldn't sleep without you in Newark," he whispered. "And I love when you wear my shirts."

He pulled the t-shirt over my head and tossed it on the floor. He placed his hands over my sports bra-clad breasts, backing me into the bathroom wall. He leaned his body into mine, and I felt his desire pressing into my stomach. He buried his nose in my hair and inhaled.

"God, Steph, you're like a drug. I can't get enough of you."

His words set me on fire, making the throbbing between my legs nearly unbearable. I pulled the towel from his waist, leaving Ranger standing naked before me.

"I love you," I said as I stared into his gorgeous brown eyes. His lips connected with mine once more, and I placed my palms over his firm backside, pulling him into me tighter. I shifted to turn our bodies so Ranger's back was against the wall, then broke from our kiss to fall to my knees in front of him. I searched his face for approval, receiving it without question.

"Babe," he moaned as I took him in my mouth, his eyes closing as pleasure chased away all rational thoughts.

While Ranger showered, I set out an assortment of items in the kitchen for breakfast—bagels, cream cheese, a packet of smoked salmon, yogurt, and fresh fruit.

When he emerged from the bedroom, he was drop-dead gorgeous in a tight black t-shirt, worn designer blue jeans, and black biker boots. My heart stuttered around in my chest just looking at him.

"When do you need to be back in Newark?" I asked.

"Mamí's surgery is scheduled for 1 PM, so I should be out of Trenton by 10 AM," he responded, cutting a bagel in half and inserting the halves in the toaster.

"How is she holding up?" I asked. "Is there anything I can do?"

"She's a fighter," said Ranger, "but she's tired. I had hoped she could beat this without such extreme measures, but hopefully this will be the end of it. There is nothing to do but pray and wait."

I nodded my understanding, feeling sad.

"What hazards do you have planned for today?" asked Ranger, changing the subject.

"Personal training," I cringed. "Trying to find Dickie Orr. It should be fairly uneventful besides those things."

Ranger sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "Consider handing off Mr. Orr," Ranger said.

"I've barely started looking for him," I replied.

"Chances are good he got involved with some bad people, and that's why he disappeared," said Ranger. "It's a low bond. If nothing else, we can write it off as a bad bond and move on."

"Is that an order or a suggestion?" I asked.

"Suggestion," he said, smearing cream cheese on his bagel. "Just be careful if you pursue it."

I nibbled at a grape. "Deal."

"We have a staff meeting this morning," Ranger announced. "Eight o'clock. Can you make it?"

"Sure."

"Great," replied Ranger. "We'll get the formal introductions out of the way.

"I'm pretty sure everybody already knows about me," I joked.

"Babe."

I'd never attended a Rangeman staff meeting before, so I stood in the closet wrapped in my towel surveying my wardrobe options. If it was a meeting, it seemed like I should wear professional clothing, right? I selected a classic grey pencil skirt with a slightly suggestive slit in the back, pairing it with a silky blue sleeveless blouse with a plunging neckline and a black blazer. I dressed and slid into a pair of black stiletto heels. I checked out my reflection in the mirror. Despite my face looking a mess, I was having an excellent hair day after Ximena's efforts last night, and even I had to admit I looked pretty good. I used foundation to tone down my bruising, then I added mascara and lip gloss to complete the look.

"Sexy," I heard from the doorway.

"Thanks," I responded, blushing.

"I have some things to do in my office downstairs," Ranger said, standing behind me with his arms around my waist. I stared at our reflection together and had to smile. GI Joe meets Calamity Jane. "I'll pick you up at 7:55 AM. Your office or here?"

"Office," I said, unable to wipe the goofy smile off my face.

He grabbed my ass, giving it a firm squeeze and gave me a playful nip on the neck. "See you soon."

I turned my face over my shoulder, and he kissed me with a lot of tongue before exiting the closet.


	12. Chapter 12

As promised, Ranger was at my office at 7:55 AM. I asked him what I needed to take with me, and he said nothing. I was surprised by his answer, but I wasn't about to argue. I slid my keys and phone in my blazer pocket and followed him.

I was surprised when we walked into the gym. I had assumed we'd be in a conference room, but there were men standing along the walls and sitting on weight benches when we arrived. They were all dressed in Rangeman fatigues, making Ranger and I stick out from the crowd in our outfits. Ranger protectively put a hand at the small of my back and walked me to an empty weight bench, where I sat.

My eyes darted around the room at the many familiar faces, some whose names I knew and others I didn't. Hal, Ram, Carl, Hector, Cal…Many of these men had protected my body on various occasions, and for that, I was grateful.

Tank and Ximena were next through the door. They crossed to me, and Ximena sat on the bench next to me.

"Bueños días, Chica," Ximena said, giving me a goofy, playful peck on my uninjured cheek. "¡Muy caliente! Va va voom!" she said, gesturing at my clothing and wiggling her eyebrows like Lester usually did.

"You doin' okay, Bomber?" Tank asked in a low voice.

"I'm good, Tank. Thank you."

He gave a single nod of knowing approval and crossed to Ranger, where they began a low conversation. Ranger wore his blank face, and Tank didn't look pleased.

"Nice hickey," Ximena said, studying my neck.

"What?" I half-shrieked in response.

She let out a belly laugh that exuded good humor. "Please tell me that is from Carlos. I'm never gonna let him hear the end of it," she joked.

I was horrified, not having realized that Ranger had left 'his mark.' I separated my curls with my fingers, pulling them down around my neck to try to hide the mark.

Ximena let out a low whistle and elbowed me in the side. "Is that Joe?" she asked, gesturing to the gym door.

I looked to see Joe walking into the gym, looking a bit uncertain. He looked exhausted with stress lines between his eyebrows and dark circles under his eyes. I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

"Yep. That's him."

"Damn, girl. How do you attract such fine-looking men?" she asked.

"It's not intentional," I assured her, and she laughed.

Joe glanced over from across the room, his eyes meeting mine. I gave him a serious nod of acknowledgment, but he didn't move. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it without speaking. He raised his hand in an awkward half-wave, then went to stand with his back against the wall.

I noticed Ranger and Tank's gaze had landed on Morelli. They had a few more verbal exchanges, then Tank looked at his watch. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, then walked to the center of the room.

"Morning," Tank said in his booming voice.

The men, who had been mingling, quieted.

"Welcome to the June staff meeting. We'll start with announcements. What've ya got?" Tank asked the men.

Hector, an expert with locks, technology, and security systems I'd worked previously, stood. He was Latino and shorter than me. His arms, neck, and face were covered gang tattoos.

"I know time in the control room can get boring, but the pornography sites a few of you idiots have been visiting are full of spamware and viruses. I'm sick and fuckin' tired of cleaning up your messes. If you don't cut the shit, I'll put a list of names on Manoso's desk. Don't think I won't."

With that, he sat.

Ximena stood next. "Rangeman Newark is on target for a fall opening. I don't want to poach anybody away from Trenton, but I will need experienced men to train the new hires and I need to fill leadership roles. Let me know if you're interested, and we'll talk."

No one else spoke, so Tank spoke again. "If there's nothing else, we'll move on to the leadership team report."

Ranger walked to the center of the room.

"We have two new full-time hires this month. The first is Stephanie Plum," he announced, gesturing toward me. "She's working as executive assistant to Ximena Santos, and she continues to work as a bounty hunter on Rangeman's behalf. Most of you know her for her prior contract work with Rangeman, but please welcome her now that she joins us full time."

Nobody seemed particularly surprised or unhappy to see me at the meeting. I got a few nods and waves plus some smiles from familiar faces. I took this all as a good sign.

"We also welcome Joseph Morelli," Ranger announced, gesturing toward Joe. "Joe's a former Trenton detective and plain-clothes cop in crimes against persons. He did some time in the military prior to that. He and Plum are partners."

The other Rangemen stared at Joe, sizing him up. Some of them knew of him from past encounters, but few of the men actually knew him well.

"We need four volunteers for contract bodyguard job next weekend," Tank announced, sharing specifics about the job. Four men volunteered, and that conversation was done.

Several additional jobs were negotiated, and a few men requested coverage for shifts they'd been scheduled for but had conflicts.

"Now that the pleasantries are done," said Tank, "it's time for the welcome party. Morelli and Plum. To the mats."

He gestured at a padded area in the corner of the room that had been set up for hand-to-hand combat practice, and some of the men clapped, cheered, or gave low whistles.

I looked around the room and could feel myself pale. Were we supposed to fight? For starters, I wasn't dressed for any sort of fighting. Second, I had no idea how to fight. Sure, I could throw an occasional elbow to 'the boys' or scratch a guy in the face when truly threatened, but actual fighting? No.

I looked to Joe, and he looked as confused as I felt. He pushed off the wall and sauntered over to the mats, deciding to play it cool. He took off his tennis shoes, emptied his pockets, and took off his gun belt. I put one foot in front of the other, feeling like I was headed to the guillotine in my business attire and stiletto pumps. As I walked in front of Ranger, he gave me a barely perceptible wink. I was unsure how to interpret the wink, but it led me to believe he wouldn't let anything bad happen to me in this strange initiation activity. That was a relief.

I got to the padded area and kicked off my shoes, tossing them aside with my blazer. I tied up my hair with an elastic I'd left on my wrist, and I approached Morelli cautiously. He gave me a mildly inappropriate once over with his eyes to let me know he liked what he saw. I scowled in return, thinking I might like to punch him..

"As an employee of Rangeman, we have expectations about the skills our employees bring to the table," Tank boomed. "We are an elite security firm, and the ability to protect ourselves and others is key to our success. Integrity, honor, loyalty, and trust are the backbone of this organization. When one pillar is broken, the organization collapses."

Morelli was standing straight, looking between Tank and I. Something caught his attention, and his expression changed to his blank cop face. He leaned to my ear and whispered, "Nice hickey, Cupcake. Did your boyfriend give you that?"

Something inside me snapped, and I grabbed the front of his shirt, getting up into his face.

Before I could claw Morelli's eyes out, Tank intervened by pushing the two of us apart.

"Wait, Plum. I'm not finished yet."

Morelli and I locked stares, the tension between us palpable. My palms were sweaty, and I was trembling with nervous energy.

"Usually we let new partners duke it out so they can learn each other's fighting style," Tank explained. "After all, it is all about trust. You are responsible for your partner's safety, and they are responsible for yours. You have to know your team's strengths and weaknesses. But today, a fight between Plum and Morelli wouldn't be a fair fight," Tank said, shifting his gaze to me. "Plum got injured on the job last night as a result of Morelli's incompetence, and the trust has been broken. The partnership failed."

At this statement, Morelli's face transformed to anger. Someone was questioning his abilities, and he didn't like it.

"The loyalty of this team needs to be rebuilt. You can sit this one out, Bomber."

I almost collapsed with relief as I turned and walked away from the mats, stuffing my feet in my high heels and holding my blazer in my arms.

"Today, Morelli will choose his opponent," Tank announced.

The men cheered excitedly, apparently relieved to watch a real fight instead of my weak attempts to bitch-slap Joe on the mats.

"Who do you want?" said Tank.

"Manoso," Joe responded without hesitation.

I stopped dead in my tracks and turned to face Ranger, who had a smug, knowing grin on his face. He expected this. He welcomed this. He looked forward to this. He closed the distance between us and gazed down at me with his gorgeous, playful brown eyes. I studied him for a time, realizing he was really going to do this.

"Is this really necessary?" I whispered.

"It's a rite of passage," he said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

"Neither of you are fully recovered from injuries," I begged. "Please don't get killed. This macho crap is stupid."

Ranger nodded, then kissed me with a lot of tongue and ass-grabbing, clearly making a show of it for Morelli. My brain knew he was showing off, but that didn't change the fact he made my panties wet. Ranger's men cheered at the show.

As Ranger turned to walk away, I felt panic rise inside me.

And suddenly in that moment, I realized… he knew. He knew everything. The coming home in the night, the hickey, the public groping and kissing …. He knew that I had an encounter with Joe Morelli, and this was his way of claiming his territory.

I'd seen Ranger and Morelli fight once before in Hawaii, and it had been awful. Ranger had fractured a bone in his hand rearranging Morelli's face, and Ranger had required seven stitches to fix his face where Morelli had done the same.

I grabbed Ranger's wrist, and he turned to face me again.

"I am so sorry," I said in horror. "I swear, it will never happen again. It was a mistake. I…"

He cut me off with another showy kiss.

"I know," he said with a smirk, then he swaggered toward the mats.

The urge to throw up was overwhelming, but I stood frozen like a statue in the center of the room, unable to move… unable to breathe, not wanting to watch but unable to look away. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion, and I was the cause of the accident.

Ranger emptied his pockets, removing his cell phone, keys, and other random accessories before taking his gun off his belt and stepping sock-foot onto the mats.

"May the best man win," Tank taunted.

Joe and Ranger began to move, sizing one another up as they circled the mats. Joe attempted the first punch, missing Ranger by millimeters. In response, Ranger kicked Joe's feet out from under him, knocking him onto his back in one swift move.

I cringed thinking of Joe's damaged brain and Ranger's lingering concussion. This was a stupid, unnecessary show of toxic masculinity.

Joe landed with a loud woosh of air. He attempted to get up but was too slow, and Ranger pounced on top of him, throwing punches at his face. Joe threw and elbow, and it connected with Ranger's face, stunning him. Joe shoved him off his chest and scrambled to his feet, trying to find a more favorable fighting position.

Joe rushed Ranger before he could get up, and they went ass-over-tea kettles, rolling around on the floor. Joe's knee connected with Ranger's bad leg, and Ranger cried out, trying to scramble away. Joe jumped on Ranger again, but Ranger came out on top with Joe on his stomach beneath him, Joe's head in a firm head lock. Ranger said something in Joe's ear, and Joe sneered in response. He kicked and fought to get up, but was unable to break Ranger's grasp.

A cheer went up from the men, celebrating Ranger's apparent success, and Ranger flashed a grin. Ranger released Morelli and got to his feet, straightening his shirt and jeans. Joe slowly drug himself to his feet, looking like an angry bull. He rushed Ranger, and I cringed as their bodies connected, collapsing into a pile once more.

In that moment, the difference between Ranger and Morelli was striking. Ranger's eyes were stone-cold scary, a predator stalking his prey. Calm, cool, and calculated. Morelli's eyes were angry, his hot-headed Italian temper ruling his fight.

Morelli was on top this time, his fist connecting with Ranger's face. Blood gushed from Ranger's lip, but he seemed unfazed by the blow. Ranger's fist connected with Morelli's stomach, and Morelli crumpled on top of Ranger. Ranger threw him off and pounced like a lion, his fist connecting with Morelli's nose. Blood gushed from Morelli's nose, and he cried out, his hands moving to protect his face.

"Had enough yet?" Ranger asked, his voice cold.

"Fuck you, Manoso," said Morelli.

Ranger stood and spit in Morelli's face.

"Touch her again, and you're fired."

I quiet murmur went through the crowd of men watching, and many of their eyes looked to me. My face got hot, and I looked at the floor.

Joe sat up, wiping his bloody nose on his shirt. He sneered at Ranger. "You'll always have to wonder if she'd rather have me," Morelli taunted, wiping the spit off his face.

Ranger turned and kicked Morelli in the stomach, and Morelli collapsed into a fetal position, moaning in pain.

The men cheered again, but I'd seen enough of this ridiculous, macho exchange. I raced out of the gym, my feet carrying me up multiple flights of stairs to the apartment. I had half a mind to quit my job and never talk to either of these morons again.

* * *

I was working on my laptop on the small apartment table when Ranger came in twenty minutes later. His face was bruised and bloody, his clothes rumpled. I did my best to ignore him, continuing to run skips through my background check programs to find hints about their potential whereabouts. He stood behind me, his energy seeping out of his pores. He put his hands on my shoulders, and I cringed.

"Don't touch me," I said with as much malice as I could manage, anger still roiling within me.

He removed his hands and stood quietly for a while, then he went into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He emerged ten minutes later, cleaned up and dressed in similar clothes as he'd worn before. His overnight bag was slung over his shoulder. He had put liquid bandage on his split lip, and a bruise was blooming on his cheek.

Our eyes locked, but nothing was said as unspoken communication passed between us. Some of my anger eased, and I let out a sigh of resignation.

"Did you sleep with him?" Ranger asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

"No, I wouldn't do that," I said defensively. "He kissed me, then I left. I couldn't…."

"Must have been some kiss to leave you shirtless," said Ranger, his voice flat.

I stared at my hands uncomfortably. "It's not like that."

He let the silence sit between us, as if giving me a chance to fess up. I had nothing more to confess, so I let it sit.

"Do you want me to move out?" I asked.

"No," said Ranger decisively. "Of course not. I want you to stay here permanently."

I got to my feet and walked to Ranger, taking one of his strong hands in mine.

"If you want him, have him. But I won't share," said Ranger. "I told you that before."

His words cut me like knives, and I stared at the floor, wishing I could disappear.

"I know," I said in a near-whisper. "I'm sorry I hurt you. It won't happen again. You're all I want."

Ranger tipped my chin toward his face and looked into my eyes, his gaze softening to one of affection.

"Hypothetically speaking, if I proposed to you, would you accept?" he asked inquisitively, his eyes twinkling with an air of amusement.

I nearly choked on my own spit. "I kiss Morelli and you start talking about marriage?"

"Only hypothetically," said Ranger.

"You're sick," I scoffed, and Ranger gave a bark of laughter.

"I don't know if I ever want to be married," I admitted.

"Me either," responded Ranger.

"I guess if I had to be married to somebody someday, you'd be at the top of my list. Why are you even talking about this? Did you hit your head down there?"

"Just a conversation I had with my mother last night," Ranger said, adjusting the bag on his shoulder.

"Your mother is pressuring you to get married?" I inquired. "She sounds like my mother."

"No," he said, "but she really likes you. I get the impression she'd like to see me settle down."

"And you'd do that for her?"

He shrugged. "Like I said, I'm working through all this. I don't know. I'm thinking about it anyway."

Curiosity got the best of me. "You said you're seeing a therapist. Why?"

Ranger seemed uncomfortable with my question, so I instantly back pedaled.

"Sorry, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want. That was rude of me."

Ranger gave me a smile that didn't travel to his eyes. He took my hand and led me to the couch, where we sat.

"I've had a hard time since Atlanta," he admitted. "Post-traumatic stress and anxiety. I dealt with it after my time in Special Forces too, but this time it's different. In my line of work, I can't afford to lose my edge using a bunch of medication anymore, so this seems like the best solution. And sleep seems illusive unless I can hold you. Unless I know you're safe."

My brain rolled around the information he'd shared. I'd noticed his trouble sleeping, but it had never occurred to me anything else was wrong. Ranger was good at hiding it.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't realize you were dealing with that. I wish you'd told me sooner."

"I didn't want anyone to know, but it's only right for you to know. You're my partner. You live with me. You have a right to know."

"I won't tell anyone." I paused. "So that's why you came home last night?"

He nodded. "I couldn't sleep. That, and I got a text from Hal about your Rangeman entrance last night."

I cringed, then changed the subject. "Do you want me to go to Newark with you? How can I support you?"

"No," he said. "You've got work to do here. I'll be fine. I close enough I can run home tonight if I need to."

"What are you going to tell your mother about your face?" I asked, gently touching his bruise.

"I'll tell her I accidentally woke you creeping into the apartment last night."

I broke out in to raucous laughter.

"The apartment feels right with you in it, Babe. I hope you'll stay."

"Of course," I answered. "Just no more fist-fights, please."

* * *

Ranger headed back to Newark to take his mom in for surgery, and Ximena and I made a quick stop at the police station to pick up paperwork for Leo Zacharias and Fran Gilmer before heading for the bonds office in her red Jaguar XE.

"Some morning, eh?" Ximena said.

I rolled my eyes, and she laughed.

"I'm going to have to take up drinking if my life stays this dramatic," I admitted.

"Alcohol is bad on your liver. Let's eat our feelings instead," said Ximena, pulling into the Cluck-in-a-Bucket drive thru. We ordered Double-Clucky Breakfast Sandwiches with hash rounds and sodas, and we dug in as we drove.

"I think Ranger's lost his damn mind," I said.

"No kidding. I had to fix Joe up, and Lester hauled him home. He was a mess when Carlos was done with him."

I visible cringed. I knew in my heart that Morelli had taken advantage of the situation last night, but I was responsible for what happened, too. As much as I would have liked to punch him, I hated that this was the price he paid for both our sins.

"Men are crazy when they're in love," said Ximena through a mouthful of food. "But Carlos takes it to a new level of crazy.

"No joke. He asked me how I'd answer if he proposed today," I said, digging around for my last hash round.

"Holy hell!" cried Ximena. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"It wasn't a proposal," I said. "It was a hypothetical."

"I can't imagine Carlos settling down. What did you say?"

"I didn't commit to anything."

"What would you say?" she asked, staring at me.

"I guess I'd say I have to think about it."

"Chica, you'd say no and run for California," laughed Ximena.

"That's not true!" I argued, trying to convince myself of the statement.

She gave me a knowing stare as we pulled up in front of the bonds office. We cruised inside, and I was surprised to see Lula sitting on the black leather couch. She was dressed to kill, with her boobs barely contained in a black leather bustier, black leather pants that barely fit, and strappy black heels.

"Mornin'," said Connie. She was at her desk wearing a magenta sweater with a low v-neck, black slacks, and black heels. "What happened to you?"

"Leo Zacharias's HurryCane," I said, flopping down in a chair. "I have his body receipt, plus one for Fran Gilmer. Thanks for doing the papers." I handed Connie the paperwork. "I didn't expect to see you here," I said to Lula.

"Humph," she responded, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "I was just stopping by to say hi. Didn't realize I'd get to see my replacement," she said, gesturing at Ximena.

"She didn't replace you," I said defensively. "I'm Ximena's assistant."

Ximena extended her hand to Lula, and Lula reluctantly shook it.

"I'm Ximena," she said as introduction. "You must be Lula. I've heard a lot about you. I know Steph really values your friendship."

"Mmmhrm. Yeah. Sure," said Lula.

"And Steph's right, I'm her boss, not her partner. Her partner is Joe Morelli."

In chorus, Lula and Connie shouted, "What?"

"Yeah," I sighed. "Nobody asked me. I don't want to talk about it."

"And 'nobody' is Ranger?" asked Connie.

"Mmmhrm."

"Well that is uncomfortable," scoffed Connie. "You only screwed the guy for the past sixteen years."

"Jeez! It wasn't that long," I said defensively. "It was a while in high school, then we weren't together for a decade. Give me a break."

"Isn't work at Rangeman pretty physical? Is he even able to do the job?" Connie asked curiously.

"I asked the same thing, but so far, he's capable enough."

"Well, I can't compete with that," scoffed Lula. "He's still tall and strong, and he probably looks good in those horrible black cargo pants all you Rangeman fools wear. I don't care if half his brain is Jello, that man is fine. He's like an Italian crème cake, and I wanna eat him up."

"Good gravy," I whined. "Can we change the subject already?"

"Why the hell aren't you in those cargo pants?" Lula asked me.

"I opted for business attire this morning," I explained. "I had a meeting."

Ximena gave me a knowing grin, but nothing was said.

"Is Vinnie writing bonds?" Connie asked Lula.

"Nope. We're pursuing a new business venture. We're gonna be entrepreneurs."

'Wow, good for you guys," said Connie. "What are you working on?"

"I'm not at liberty to say right now," said Lula, "but you'll be invited to our grand opening fo sho. Vinnie and I have a lot of unique talents and skills we bring to the table as business people. Get excited! This is gonna be fuckin' awesome."

I had no idea what kind of "talents" Vinnie brought to the table, and frankly, I didn't want to know. I knew the talents Lula brought to the table, and so far as I knew, none of them provided gainful, legal forms of employment. I could only assume they were opening a brothel.

"How was your date?" I asked Connie.

"Fabulous," she said, fanning herself. "Dinner was good, but what happened afterward was better."

We all broke into a girly fit laughter.

"He made me happy. A lot of times," said Connie. "And there is a LOT of him, if you get what I mean."

"You lucky bitch," said Lula. "I've hit a dry patch, what, with starting this new business venture with Vinnie and all. I need to find me a man. I'd like to find Mr. Right, but at this point, I'd settle for Mr. Tonight or Mr. Good Enough."

"I need a man like that too," sighed Ximena. "Pass him along when you get tired of him." She took a giant swig of Coke.

I had a hard time believing Ximena had a hard time finding men. She was gorgeous and smart. I suspected her problem was she was too focused on her career, leaving little time for pursuing romance.

"I suspect he'll be done with me before I'm done with him," said Connie. "Lester is a player, but I have to admit, the man has skills, especially in the sack."

Ximena spit her Coke out all over the carpet. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," she shouted, plugging her ears. "I don't want to hear this!"

"What's her problem?" asked Lula. "Does she have Tourettes?"

"She's Lester's sister," I said, sitting back to cross my legs. "She probably doesn't want to hear about her brother's very active sex life."

"That explains it," said Connie, adjusting 'the girls.' "Boy, to have that family's genetics. Wish we could all look that good."

"Oh, I don't know. I'm pretty sure I've got superior genetics, too," chimed in Lula. "I've got tits, ass, and some pretty fucking incredible legs. Lotsa women wish they had this. Hell, lotsa men, too!"

Lula was right. She had a lot of ass and a lot of chest. I couldn't vouch for men or women wanting it, though. I, for one, had no desire to wrangle that much boob on a daily basis. It might have had limitations, but my B cup was just fine by me.

Lula elbowed Ximena in the hip. "It's safe to listen now. We're talking about my superior boobs."

"Good," Ximena said, taking a seat on the couch next to Lula. "Please exclude me from all future conversations about my brother's sex life. Please and thank you. But I do like your outfit."

"Thanks," Lula said, making sure the girls looked good in the bustier. "It's from my former profession."

"Stripper?" asked Ximena.

"No. Stark Street hoe. A damn good one, at that."

"What's on the agenda today?" Connie asked me.

"I've got a little time this morning before I have to be back at Rangeman at one," I said. "Ximena and I are going to ask around a little more about Dickie, and I'm going to see if I can get my hands on Eloise Fitch."

"What's her story?" asked Ximena.

I pulled the file out of my messenger bag and began to read.

"Eloise Fitch, age thirty-five. Arrested for drunk and disorderly and assault on an officer after leaving The HandleBar. Lives in Hamilton Township, works at the button factory. Has an ex-husband, no children. Lives alone in an apartment off Route 1. Drives an older white Hyundai Elantra."

"The HandleBar?" asked Ximena.

"Biker bar," I responded.

"You mean bicycle bar," said Connie. "It's right off the bike path."

Ximena nodded.

"I'd need to be drunk and disorderly if I had a job as boring as the button factory," said Lula. "Watching all those little round buttons go by, day after day. Drilling two holes or four holes in every one. Making sure the holes are just right and there's no cracks or breaks. Hell no. I couldn't do that shit. I'd rather be a hoe. At least every day is different when you're a hoe."

"You've got a point," said Ximena. "Jobs like that are soul-crushing."

"I know you're cleaning up your stack, but we've got to get these open files under control," said Connie. "If we don't catch up soon, Ranger's gonna need to bring in another bounty hunter. The cash flow situation isn't working right now."

"I already handed some files off. Ranger has his men working on them. I can get a status report."

"Glad to hear it," said Connie. "At least we don't have anything coming in right now."

"Still haven't written any bonds?"

"Just one," she said. "Frequent flyer. He'll show for court, though."

"Let's hit the road," I said, scooping up my messenger bag. "I don't have a lot of time before I have to be back at Rangeman, and these skips aren't finding themselves."


	13. Chapter 13

Ximena parked in front of Eloise Fitch's apartment complex, which consisted of a series of ugly, two-story yellow brick buildings with green roofs. She had a first-floor apartment in building D. I glanced around the lot for her Hyundai but didn't see a car that fit the description. I pulled out Fitch's file again to peek at her picture. She was a mildly attractive blonde, about my height, with shoulder length curls , brown eyes, a pointy nose, and a narrow face.

"How do you want to do this?" asked Ximena.

"I'm planning to knock on her door."

"That's it?"

"Yep," I responded. "Chances are good she's at work, but no stone left unturned. In case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm a pretty unsophisticated bounty hunter. Besides, picking up people at their place of employment isn't on my list of favorite things, so I figured we'd stop here first. Ever hopeful."

Ximena rolled her eyes. "How did you even get to be a bounty hunter?"

I gave Ximena the shortened version of scamming Vinnie into letting me work for him so I could capture Joe Morelli for his bond money post-divorce.

"I always figured I'd find another job, but apparently I have no marketable skills and have become an adrenaline junkie. What's sad is I actually really suck at this job. And I know it! I roll in dog doodie and garbage on a regular basis, and I couldn't begin to tell you how many cars have been destroyed. Plus, I am a disaster magnet. Trouble always has a way of finding me."

"Well, hopefully we can better equip you now that you're working for Rangeman," said Ximena, unbuckling and climbing out of the car.

I approached Eloise's front door and peered in the sidelight window. The apartment was dark, but enough light shined in the shades that I could see it was neat and tidy inside. I couldn't see anybody, but I knocked twice anyway. Nothing. Nobody opened the door. No barking dog. No nosey neighbor. Just silence.

"Bummer," said Ximena. "Off to the button factory?"

"Yeah."

We got back in the car, and Ximena drove the short distance to the button factory. We parked and hustled to the front office, where a woman in khakis and a blue polo shirt was sitting behind a desk. She had wire-framed glasses and her gray-streaked brown hair teased up and sprayed until it submitted to her will.

"Good morning, ladies. How may I help you? Oh my…. Are you okay?" asked the woman, apparently noticing the state of my face.

"Hi, thanks. I'm fine. I'm here to see Eloise Fitch," I said.

"Oh dear. Is she expecting you?" the woman asked.

"No, I wanted to surprise her," I said, flashing a friendly smile.

Ximena gave me a subtle, amused wink.

"We don't typically have visitors," the woman said. "I suppose I could see if Eloise is ready to take her 15-minute break…" Her voice trailed off as she debated her options.

"I can come back at a better time if now is inconvenient," I said, trying to be polite and accommodating.

"Let me go check with her and see if now is a good time," said the woman. "What is your name?"

"Stephanie."

"Stephanie….?" The woman asked.

"Manoso."

The woman walked through a door behind her, and Ximena gave me a sideways glance.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Jeez! It's what came to mind. Do your really think Fitch would have come out if she heard my last name was Plum? Don't go over-analyzing me."

Ximena gave me a smirk.

A few minutes later, the woman returned with Eloise at her side. Fitch was wearing the same blue polo and khakis as the woman at the desk, but her hair was pulled into a ponytail and she was wearing sensible brown leather shoes.

"Hi," Eloise said, sounding slightly confused. "Do I know you?"

"No, but it's important we talk. Is there somewhere more private we can go?" I asked.

"Oh god, another one?" she scoffed.

"What?" I asked, confused.

"I don't care if you're sleeping with my ex-husband. I don't know why all you dumb bitches think they need to tell me about it," Eloise said, her frustration apparent. "We're done. History."

"Sorry, that's not why I'm here. I don't know your ex-husband," I explained.

Fitch looked like she wasn't sure she believed me. "Then what do you want?"

"Is there somewhere else we can go?" chimed in Ximena.

She heaved a sigh. "If you've got something to say, you can say it to me right here, right now. Otherwise, I've got to get back to work," said Fitch, growing irritated.

I knew Fitch didn't have a record of arrests, so I hoped this would be routine and easy.

"We represent your bail bonds agency," I explained. "You missed your court date. I'd like to take you downtown to reschedule."

"Oh god, is that really necessary?" she asked, rolling her eyes. "This whole thing has been such a hassle. I don't have time off to take right now, and they always want to schedule when I'm working."

"Could you take an early lunch and come downtown with me right now?" I inquired. "We'll run through the Cluck-in-a-Bucket drive through, and lunch will be on me."

She sighed. "I guess that would work. This wasn't how I'd hoped to spend my day."

I called Connie and asked her to meet us downtown while Eloise clocked out. We all loaded into Ximena's car and pointed the wheels toward Cluck-in-a-Bucket, where we ordered a Double Clucky Burger with fries for Eloise.

"So I have to ask. Do many women stop by your work to tell you they're sleeping with your ex-husband?" Ximena asked Eloise.

"Not at work, but everywhere else," Eloise said, stuffing fries in her mouth. "He got around when we were married, but he really gets around now. I don't know why women think they have to confess to me. What do I look like? The pope? That chapter in my life is closed. I'm moving on."

"Sounds like a healthy decision," Ximena said.

We met up with Connie and got Eloise checked-in at the police station., then Connie escorted her over to the court.

"Where to now?" Ximena asked as we sat in her car.

"I have to be back at Rangeman for personal training with Rodriguez at 1:30 PM," I said, cringing. "I'd like to do some more checking up on Dickie, and I could stand to have a light lunch."

"No burger? No pizza?" Ximena asked, looking a bit confused.

"Not on personal training days," I said, remembering the donuts I'd left on the floor last time.

I gave Ximena directions to Dickie's law firm. I figured we'd check there first. When we arrived, the same woman was at the desk.

"Oh my, what happened to your face?" the woman said, looking concerned.

"I'm fine," I reassured her.

"Back so soon?" she asked, giving a small, polite smile that failed to travel to her eyes.

"Yep," I said, my spidey senses telling me that something felt off about the office today. "Any word from Dickie?"

"No, I'm sorry," the woman said, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Mr. Orr is still unavailable. I wish I could help you."

I handed the woman my card. "If you see him or hear of his whereabouts, will you give me a call?"

"Of course," the woman said, tucking the card in the top drawer of her desk. Her face was tense.

"Is everything okay?" I asked her curiously.

"Of course," she said, tinkering with her computer mouse.

I heard footfalls behind me, and I turned to see who had entered the room. A tall man in a black pinstripe suit with a blue shirt and black tie was standing behind me, his shiny black loafers reflecting the lights above. His hair was dark and styled in an undercut style. His dark eyes were assessing and cold. He was thin but appeared muscular under his suit.

I glanced over at Ximena, and her expression told me she sensed the bad juju in the room, too.

"Good morning, Ms. Plum," the man said. His voice was low, his inflection terse. "I've been expecting you."

"Good morning yourself," I said. "You know me, so how about you tell me your name."

"It's hard not to know you, Miss Plum. Not only are you my partner's ex-wife from hell, you regularly make the papers. I am Roger Rhoads, attorney at law," he said, extending his hand to me. "Welcome to my firm."

Ximena gave me a shocked look, and it occurred to me I hadn't filled her in on the details of my ten-minute marriage to Dickie.

I shook his hand tentatively, and I could tell he liked that I was intimidated by him. I straightened up, trying to exude an air of confidence.

"We're looking for Richard Orr," Ximena said, cutting to the chase.

"And you are….?" he asked.

"Ximena Santos. I work with Stephanie."

"Ah, yes. So nice to meet you. Well, I regret to inform you that Mr. Orr is not here today, nor is it clear when he will return. If you leave your contact information, we will be sure to get back to you when he is available."

Rhoads put his hands on his hips, pulling back his suit jacket to expose a gun on his hip. I wasn't sure if it was intentional or not, but either way, he was succeeding at intimidation.

"I would appreciate that," I said, handing him my card.

"Now if you'd please leave the premises and not return, I'd appreciate it," Rhoads said, slipping my card into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

"No problem," I said, hiking my messenger bag up on my shoulder. "Have a nice day," I said to the woman at the desk, and we left the building.

We walked silently to the car, slid in, and buckled in before speaking.

"Well, that excalated quickly," I said.

"Something's up," Ximena said, rolling over the engine.

"Agreed. Something feels off in that building compared to yesterday. Morelli and I stopped by, and nothing seemed amiss. The woman at the front desk was helpful and apologetic. Today, it was like a switch has been flipped."

"They know more than they're saying," she said as she pulled away from the building. "Maybe she'll give you a call since you dropped your card. Let's check out Dickie's place."

I plugged Dickie's new address into the Maps app on my phone and directed Ximena there. While we drove, I called Connie and asked her to run a background check on Roger Rhoads.

"You've got it. Anything else?" Connie asked.

"The third partner," I responded. "Fitch. I don't have a first name."

"Sure. You coming back this way for lunch? I don't think I can get away again today, and I didn't bring anything."

"We can do that," I said. "Give us thirty minutes."

Dickie lived in newer, a two-story white and brown Tudor home just inside the Burg. The street was filled with newer homes, and it was quiet this time of day. We parked on the street and watched the house for a while, but there was no activity.

"So you were married to this moron?" Ximena asked.

"Not for long. The ink wasn't dry on my marriage certificate when he started sleeping around. And that was a long time ago. Good riddance."

"I had no idea you'd been married," Ximena said. "You and Carlos have more in common than I thought."

She was right. Ranger and I had each been married at one time, but both marriages were short lived.

After ten minutes with no activity, we left the car and went to the house to snoop. We went to the front door, knocked, and announced ourselves.

Nothing. Silence.

While we waited, I glanced in the small pane of window on the front door. Everything inside looked tidy. No dead bodies. No suitcases. No plane tickets. No shoes kicked off by the door.

I rang the bell and waited again.

Nothing.

Ximena stepped off the front stoop and walked over to the garage, where she stood on tiptoes and peeked through the small windows in the garage door.

"No car," she said.

"I'd really like to try some B&E, but I don't think that would be wise in broad daylight. And I'd guess Dickie has a security system."

"I'd guess you're right," said Ximena. "We'll come back."

Ximena drove to Gioviccini's Meat Market and Deli, where we picked up three turkey and cheddar sandwiches, a tub of potato salad, and a tub of coleslaw. We hauled it all back to the bonds office.

"Thank god," said Connie. "I'm starvin'. I was in such a rush to get home, get showered, and get back here this morning that I didn't get breakfast. I've got your file on Roger Rhoads. It'll take a little longer for the more detailed stuff, but this is enough to get you started."

"Thanks," I said, taking the file from her. I scanned over the documents, reading aloud.

"Roger Rhoads, age forty-two. Lives in the Burg. Previous residence in Atlantic City, where he had a firm. Twice married, twice divorced. Looks like he was charged with domestic violence with one of them, but the charges were dropped."

"What's up with Rhoads?" Connie asked, forking into her coleslaw.

"He was at the firm today. He wasn't there when Stephanie was there yesterday. I think he knows more than he's telling," Ximena said. "He's got seriously bad vibes."

I agreed. Just thinking about the guy sent a shiver down my spine.

Connie's computer produced a light pinging sound, and she moused around.

"The check on Fitch is done," she announced.

Her printer began shelling out papers. She placed them in a folder and handed them to me.

"Gerwin Fitch, age 37. Lives in North Trenton. He's the managing partner at the firm," I read aloud. " Recently divorced from wife, Eloise…"

"Didn't we just re-bond her?" Connie asked, flipping through paperwork on her desk.

"Yep," I said. "Small world." I browsed through the rest of his file. "He looks pretty benign," I admitted. "With the exception of his womanizing ways."

"Sounds like he and Dickie have something in common," Ximena said.

"Yeah, the whole lot of them are sleezeballs," Connie said. "That's common knowledge."

"We stopped at Dickie's house. It's dark. No sign of activity or life. We may try a little B&E later."

"Be careful if you do," Connie said. "All in all, Dickie is a low bond. I'm not super worried about him."

We finished up our lunch, told Connie to have a good afternoon, and loaded out for Rangeman.

* * *

Ximena fobbed us into the underground parking garage, and we took the elevator upstairs. Ximena got off on the sixth floor, where Ranger had her set up in a temporary efficiency apartment for her time in Trenton. I went to Ranger's seventh floor apartment, where I changed into a pink sports bra, black Nike shorts, a pink racerback shirt, and black Nike tennis shoes. I wandered into the bathroom, where I put my hair up in a tight bun and added extra deodorant. My face still looked bad, but the swelling seemed to be going down a little. Maybe.

I had a little bit of time before I needed to hit the gym, so I flopped onto the couch and dialed Ranger.

"Babe."

"Hey. How's your mom?" I asked.

"Mamí went in for surgery about fifteen minutes ago," Ranger said.

"How is your dad holding up?"

"As well as can be expected," said Ranger. "My sister is here too."

"How are you?" I asked.

"Babe."

I interpreted this to mean he was doing okay.

"Do you need anything?" I asked.

"No," he said. "Are you alright?"

"All is well on my end," I said. "Getting ready to head to the gym. Ximena and I brought in a skip this morning, and we asked around on Dickie."

"Learn anything?"

"Not really, but something bad is going on in that law office," I said. "Today gave me the creeps."

We sat in silence on the phone, and I listened to Ranger breathe.

"I miss you," I said softly.

"I miss you too," he admitted. "Stay safe, babe."

I sauntered into the gym one minute early. Rodriguez was standing slumped with his back to the wall, browsing something on his phone. He was clad in all black workout wear—gym shorts, tennis shoes, and t-shirt. To my surprise, Ximena was in the gym lifting weights. She was wearing a red sports bra, white gym shorts, and some sweet orange tennis shoes.

"I didn't expect to see you here," I said to her.

"I didn't want to miss out on the show," Ximena said, grinning from ear to ear.

I gave her my best scowl, and she smiled wider in response.

"Plus, I didn't get down here this morning. I've got to keep up with you now. I can't miss a day."

Rodriguez crossed to us, sliding his phone in his pocket. He gave me a full body scan.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Yep."

"Let's go."

We started with stretches and some jogging, then moved into weights and strength. It seemed like he was taking it easier on me today. For that, I was grateful. After an hour of hard work and sweat-but no vomit, thank god—we stretched, and I was released to shower.

"Good job, Plum," Ximena said, following me out of the gym.

"Thanks, I think. I felt like an idiot doing most of that stuff."

"You looked good," she said, pulling out her ponytail. "It will feel more natural with more practice. You'll get stronger every day."

We parted ways at the elevator, and I let myself into Rangers—my—apartment to shower. I was still struggling to make the space feel like home, but since my stuff resided in the apartment, I had to accept that it was my place, too.

Ranger's apartment had always felt like a cozy, designer getaway thanks to Ella's design sense and impeccable cleanliness. On more than one occasion in times past, I remember thinking if Ranger had been the marrying type, I would have married him simply for his comfortable bed with its ultra-high thread count bedsheets and perfect pillows. Now here I was, not only sleeping in his bed but living in his apartment, eating his food, and being invited to replace the furniture. To top that all off, he had admitted that he was thinking about marriage. This was somewhere between terrifying and utterly fantastic. I hadn't quite pegged it on the spectrum yet.

I stood in the shower, considering how my life had changed in the past month. Things with Ranger were great. I'd never experienced such a stable relationship or a gracious, humble, thoughtful partner. It was clear Ranger was going to great lengths to care for me while also keeping me comfortable, taking things at my pace. The verdict was still out on my employment with Rangeman, especially with my new partner, but it was nice knowing I'd have a regular paycheck and a reliable car. Both of those necessities had been stressors for years, and it was nice putting that behind me.

It occurred to me that my bills had suddenly become drastically reduced. No rent, no utilities. Not much in the way of groceries with Ella cooking. I had a car insurance payment and still needed to reimburse Ranger for the Toyota, but all in all, my financial situation had changed for the better. I wondered if I needed to offer to cover utilities for Ranger's and my apartment, and tucked that thought away for later.

I dried off with an ultra-soft, super-plush bath towel and blasted my hair with the hair dryer, applying a small amount of product to smooth the frizz. I reapplied my mascara and lip gloss, then shuffled into the closet, where I put on bikini underwear, jeans, a lacy bra, a girly cut navy t-shirt, and Nikes.

I settled onto the couch and worked on my laptop for a few hours, working on some small projects for Ximena and running some searches for my bond enforcement work. At some point, I dozed off, this morning's early wakeup getting the best of me.

* * *

When I woke, it was 5:30 pm. My computer had fallen asleep, and the building was quiet. My stomach was rumbling, so I headed to the kitchen in search of something snack-worthy. After finding nothing of interest in the fridge, I settled on a jar of peanut butter and a spoon from the pantry. When all else fails, there is peanut butter, right?

I sat at the counter and dialed Ranger's number. He didn't answer, but he called me back a few minutes later.

"Hey, good looking," I answered.

"Babe," he said in response.

"How's your mom?"

"She just got settled into her room. The surgery went as planned. The surgeon thinks they got good, clear margins, but we'll know more after pathology takes a look."

"That's great," I said, breathing a sigh of relief.

"She's not very alert yet. I plan to stay with her overnight so my sister can take my dad home."

"Can I do anything for you?" I asked, spooning out more peanut butter. "You going to be okay?"

"Babe."

I interpreted this to mean he'd survived as a bachelor for more than a decade, and he would be fine.

"Well, take care of yourself tonight and sleep if you can. I love you," I said.

"I love you too, Babe."

I heard a woman say something loudly in the background, but I couldn't make out her words.

"What in the world?" I asked.

Ranger laughed out loud. "My sister overheard," he explained. "She's rejoicing that I've found love."

"Wow," I said. "That's a lot of pressure to put on a girl."

"Babe."

We disconnected, and I weighed my options as I sat at the counter eating peanut butter. I could keep eating peanut butter. I could mooch dinner from my mother. I could go grab something out of the break room downstairs. I could make myself something in Ranger's granite-and-stainless kitchen. I could go to a drive-through. I could call Lula and go out. Frankly, all these options seemed unappealing.

On top of dinner decisions, there was work. I knew I should work on my pile of skips tonight, but I wasn't sure who I'd have to call for a ride-along. I definitely didn't want to see Joe, and I was too tired to deal with Lester. Plus, I wasn't feeling very motivated to chase down bad guys. I could stand to spend some time working on Ximena's projects tonight to free up more time tomorrow, but I was bored and kind of lonely in the apartment. I did some mental knuckle-cracking and called Ximena.

"Yo," she answered.

"Yo yourself. Do you know where Ranger's mom is?" I asked.

"Mercy Hospital in Newark, room 585," she responded. "Why, what's up?"

"I'm thinking of taking Ranger dinner and dropping off flowers. Want to ride along?"

"Would if I could, but I've got shit to do," she said. "Rain check?"

"Sure," I said and disconnected.

I brushed my teeth, freshened up my makeup, and redid my ponytail. I grabbed a sweater out of the closet, then I packed my laptop and some files I needed for work in my messenger bag. I selfishly grabbed the keys to Ranger's megabucks Porsche 911 Turbo and headed out, stopping off on the fifth floor to grab a variety of sandwiches, bottles of water, and fruit to take to the hospital. I pulled out of the parking garage and pointed the Porsche toward Shop and Bag, blaring the Cranberries on Ranger's satellite radio 90s station.

I knew I could have driven my personal vehicle or my corporate SUV, but what the heck—driving Ranger's Porsche was fun, and it was sure to make the monotonous, hour-long drive more enjoyable. Ranger had let me drive his car on a lot of occasions, and I knew he wouldn't mind.

At Shop-and-Bag, I grabbed a pretty, brightly colored floral arrangement out of their refrigerated case, added a balloon for good measure, and included a "Get Well Soon" card signed "Love, Carlos and Stephanie." I buckled the flowers into the passenger seat and stuffed the balloon into the small cargo compartment behind the seats, then pointed the Porsche toward Newark.

I parked the Porsche in the hospital's parking garage. I slung my messenger bag across my body and loaded up my arms with food and flowers before taking the elevator to the hospital lobby. Once there, I followed signs to the fifth floor, then wandered around until I found Ranger's mom's room. I gently knocked on her door and peeked my head inside. I saw Mariposa in her bed, fast asleep. Ranger was sitting at the foot of the bed with his left foot on his right knee. He looked tired and his face showed stress I wasn't accustomed to seeing there.

"Hey," I said in a whisper-soft voice.

"Babe," he said, his tone surprised.

I shuffled in, quietly setting the flowers and balloon in the window ledge. I set down the food containers on a small table, then gave him a quick peck on the cheek. I began to back away, but he pulled me in for a toe-curling kiss with lots of tongue. Once I retained my composure, I took a seat in the chair next to Ranger.

"Are you hungry?" I said, pointing to the boxes. "I figured anything Ella made would be better than hospital food."

"Thanks," he said, selecting a roast beef and swiss sandwich on multi-grain. I selected the chicken sandwich, and we ate in amicable silence, Ranger's eyes regularly scanning his mother's small form in the bed.

"You look stressed," I finally admitted quietly. "How are you holding up?"

Ranger seemed uncomfortable with this question. He sat, gathering his thoughts and eating.

"I don't like watching her suffer," he finally admitted.

"I'm sorry. Cancer is a real bitch."

He nodded his agreement as he selected an apple from the table. He bit into it, chewing thoughtfully. "It was really nice for you to bring mamí flowers. Thank you. I can't believe you came here," he said, his tone disbelieving.

"I wanted to make sure you were alright," I admitted. "I brought work, so I won't be a bother—I promise. I'll just hang out a little bit."

"Babe, you can hang out as long as you like," he said. "But I never would have asked you to sit here."

"I know," I said. "I wanted to be here for you."

He reached over and took my hand in his large, warm hand. His eyes met with mine; they were soft and loving, but the dark rings beneath his eyes divulged his exhaustion.

"Why don't you try to sleep?" I suggested. "Lean your head back here, or try out the recliner. I'll be here until you wake up."

The twinkle in his eye let me know he was amused that I was taking an active role as his caretaker.

"Babe," he exhaled, tossing his apple core in the trash, leaning his head back against the wall, and closing his eyes.


	14. Chapter 14

I spent some time on my laptop working on Ximena's projects, keeping an eye on Ranger and his mom in the sterile hospital room. Mariposa slept soundly in her hospital bed, but Ranger's sleep seemed tense in his chair.

Ranger's eyes fluttered open when a nurse came in to his mom's hospital room. She wore her blonde hair in a ponytail, and she was wearing light pink scrubs and black clogs that squeaked on the white tile floors. The woman checked his mom's vitals and IV pole before rousing her.

"Hi Mariposa. My name is Shelly, and I'm your overnight nurse. How is your pain?"

Mariposa's eyes barely opened, her eyelids heavy with sleep.

"I'm good," she said, her voice weak.

"Can I get you anything?" the nurse asked. "A drink?"

"No, thank you," Mariposa said, her eyes slipping shut again.

The nurse crossed to the room's computer station, flashed her badge in front of a scanner, and began typing. She glanced over at us and did a double-take. It wasn't clear if the double take was because both of our faces had prominent injuries or because Ranger was seriously fine.

"Beautiful flowers. Do you need anything?" she asked Ranger and I with a pleasant smile.

"We're fine, thanks," Ranger answered. "Is she okay?"

"Everything looks good," Shelly said. "She's just sleepy. Good drugs."

"I want her comfortable," Ranger said, his voice firm.

"I will do my best. Is Mariposa your mom?"

"Yes."

The nurse nodded. "Don't hesitate to hit the call button if she needs anything or if she seems uncomfortable."

Ranger nodded, apparently satisfied with her response. Shelly wished us a good evening and left.

"Babe, you need to go home," Ranger said, glancing at the clock.

"I'm good," I said. "I'll hang out a little longer, but I think I'm going to hit the vending machine since you're awake."

He nodded.

"You need anything? M&Ms? Coke?"

He looked amused that I'd bothered to ask.

I exited the small room and began wandering around, seeking out treats. I'd finally found the small family room when my phone vibrated with a text from an unknown number.

In my work as a bounty hunter, I get a lot of calls and texts from unknown numbers. I give my card out a lot, so my phone number was readily available for all of Trenton's freaks, geeks, felons, old ladies, and gang members, not to mention debt collectors and telemarketers selling extended vehicle warranties.

I unlocked my phone and checked the readout.

"Is this Stephanie Plum?"

I had a strong urge to ignore the text, but I figured that would be a bad idea given the large number of open files I had. If somebody had information to share, I needed it.

"Yes. What's up? Who is this?" I replied.

A reply buzzed through a minute later. "This is Lucy from the front desk at Mr. Orr's law firm. Can we talk?"

I was really surprised by this. I typed my response into the phone. "Of course. By phone? In person? By text?"

My answer came in the form of a phone call from Lucy.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Hi Miss Plum. I'm sorry to call you so late."

"No problem," I said. "Please, call me Stephanie. What's up?"

"Mr. Orr called me today at the firm."

This piece of information surprised me. "Really?"

"Yes, ma'am," she said.

"What did he say?"

"Mr. Orr told me he wasn't sure when he would return, but I should give unrestricted access to his files, discovery, and other items related to his active cases and clients to Mr. Rhoads and Mr. Fitch."

"Was that out of the ordinary?" I asked.

"No, not so much," she replied. "They often collaborate on big cases, but it is odd that he doesn't know when he'll return.

"Do you think he's running from his legal trouble?" I asked skeptically.

"No. I didn't pry about his arrest, but I got the impression it was a minor violation. He didn't seem too worried about it. I can't see him skipping town," Lucy replied. "I am worried about his safety, though."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, shortly after Mr. Orr moved to the firm, we had a private conversation. In that conversation, he established a code phrase with me."

"Code phrase?" I asked skeptically.

"Mr. Orr has a number of clients who are known to be dangerous or hostile," she explained. "The code phrase was established as a way to alert me to call the police or get help for him, should things go south. He used that phrase during our call."

"What is the phrase?" I asked.

"Banana cream pie."

"Huh?" I asked.

"Shortly after starting his role at the firm, Mr. Orr asked me what my favorite dessert was. I told him it was banana cream pie. So he said if he ever used that phrase in conversation, it meant he was in trouble and that I should get help. I wasn't sure what to do, so I'm calling you," she explained.

"Why didn't you call the police?" I asked.

"I wasn't sure I had cause," she said. "I don't know where he is or how to help. Or even what kind of help he needs."

I let the conversation roll around in my brain, trying to put together pieces of the puzzle. I came up with nothing.

"Did he leave you a call back number?" I asked.

"No."

"Was there a number on caller ID?"

"It read as 'restricted.'"

"And you're sure it was him?"

"Yes. I recognized his voice. And no one else would have known the banana crème pie reference."

"Do you think Rhoads or Fitch know something?"

She was quiet on the line for a while. "I do," she finally admitted. "Frankly, I think they may have Mr. Orr stashed away somewhere, but it's hard to tell. I really need this job, and I'm trying to stay out of it. They don't share much information with me."

I thanked her profusely for the call and asked her to call again if she learned more information. I wished her well and disconnected.

I dug around in my messenger bag for vending machine change as I mentally processed the phone call. I was honestly a little surprised to learn that Dickie was still alive. He was a real jerk of a human being, but he had always been a devoted lawyer. I couldn't see him walking away from his firm and his cases without good cause. I had to agree with Lucy—Dickie's charges were minor in the grand scheme of things. They weren't a good reason to walk away from your career. So what would cause him to walk away? Was he being threatened by someone? A client? A colleague? Had he been taken against his will? That seemed unlikely if he was making phone calls, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility. Crazier things had happened.

I texted Ximena about the call. I thought about telling Ranger, but decided against it. He had enough on his mind without polluting it with this crap. I dropped change into the vending machines, buying myself M&Ms, a Snickers, and a Coke before cruising back to Mariposa's hospital room.

Ranger and I sat side by side for an hour watching his mother sleep. He held my hand in his, stroking the back of my hand with his thumb. To my surprise, he ate some of my M&M's and took a swig of my Coke. He didn't check his e-mail or do his work. He simply sat, which was very out of character for him.

"I should hit the road," I said as the clock turned to 10 PM. "I'd stay, but I don't have much to contribute here. I'm sorry."

"You've done a lot, Babe. Thank you," Ranger replied, squeezing my hand in his.

His mother stirred in the bed, and Ranger crossed to her side. Her eyes fluttered open.

"Carlíto," she murmured, her lips forming a small smile. "I'm so glad to see you, my child."

He took her hand in his. "Mamí, how are you feeling?" he asked, his tone concerned.

"Tired. A little sore," she responded in her thick Cuban accent. "Why are you still here? It is dark. Go home. Sleep."

"I'm staying tonight," Ranger replied.

"You shouldn't. But oh, what beautiful flowers," Mariposa said, her attention shifting to the window ledge. "Did you bring them?"

"Stephanie brought them," Ranger said, gesturing in my direction.

"Oh, dear child," she said, smiling at me. "What are you doing here? It is late."

"Just stopping by to make sure you two were alright," I explained, getting to my feet. "I was worried about you both."

"She brought me dinner," Ranger said, his tone hinting at amusement.

"What have I been saying, Carlíto!" his mother admonished. "You'd best scoop up this beautiful woman before it is too late. Not many women would put up with your idiosyncrasies and strange lifestyle."

I was growing uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation, but Ranger seemed unfazed.

"I know, mamí. You've only told me fifteen times this week. You're absolutely right, though. I'm thinking about it," Ranger responded, giving me butterflies in my chest.

"Quit thinking so hard. You'll pull a muscle under that thick skull of yours," Mariposa said, raising herself up in the bed.

I couldn't help but laugh at Ranger's expense, and he gave me a 200 watt smile in return. Ranger gave his mom a drink of water out of a Styrofoam cup, and I helped her open a Chapstick for her dry lips. Then Ranger helped her find something suitable to watch on TV while I helped her put a soft knit hat onto her bald head. Once she was settled, I packed up my things to leave.

"Drive safely, Babe. Let me know you made it home."

"I will. I'll miss you," I said, wrapping my arm around his waist. He gave me a soft, lingering kiss, keeping it appropriate but sweet in front of his mother. "Goodnight," I said to Ranger's mother, giving her a wave and a smile.

"Bueños noches, Estephanía," Mariposa said.

I pulled the car keys out of my jeans pocket, and Ranger caught a glance of them.

"Babe, you brought my car?" He smiled from ear to ear.

"Yep. It seemed like a fun treat for a road trip. Besides, I didn't want the car to get lonely with you out of town."

"I can always count on you to brighten my day," he laughed, giving me a light swat on the butt. "Get home, Plum. Don't get too close to any garbage trucks."

* * *

I woke up alone with light peeking through the curtains and my phone ringing on the bedside table. I was alone in the bed, wearing one of Ranger's t-shirts and undies. The bedside clock read 8:17 AM. I had overslept.

"Hello?" I croaked into the phone, rubbing my eyes.

"G'mornin'!" my grandma sang into the phone. "It sounds like you were asleep. Did I wake you up?"

"I'm up," I yawned into the phone. "What's up?"

"I wanted to invite you to dinner tonight before the wake," said Grandma. "Your mother is making ham and pineapple upside-down cake. It'll be a feast!"

I worked to clear the brain-fog and remembered that Mabel Markowitz's viewing was tonight at Steva's. Sure, it wasn't called Steva's anymore, but to all us Burg-ers, it would ALWAYS be Steva's.

"Sure," I said, sitting up in the bed. "I'd like that."

"Will Ranger be with you?" grandma asked.

"I don't think so," I said. "He's busy with other stuff."

Grandma told me to have a nice day, and we disconnected. I crawled out of bed and into the bathroom, running low on energy and even lower on motivation. I washed my face and hands and threw my hair up in a ponytail, opting to forego the shower for now. I swiped on a coat of mascara and lip gloss, then dressed in my Rangeman uniform. I gritted my teeth as I remembered it was Thursday—range day. I strapped my gun belt around my waist and grumbled as I laced up my boots. I felt ridiculous dressed like a total badass when I knew deep-down in my heart, I was more of a Lucy Ricardo than a Lara Croft.

I shuffled into the kitchen to find that the food fairy had been in the apartment. Hooray! A tray with a carafe of hot coffee and a covered hot plate sat on the bar. I raised the lid and found scrambled eggs, bacon, and a cherry pastry. A note had been set on the tray. It read, "Stephanie, Ranger asked that I bring you breakfast this morning. I hope you don't mind that I entered the apartment while you were sleeping. Enjoy! -Ella"

Did I mind? Of course I didn't mind. The food fairy was always welcome, as far as I was concerned. I grabbed a coffee mug and a fork, and I tore into the breakfast greedily. As I ate, I dialed Ranger. He picked up on the second ring.

"Babe."

"Hey. Thanks for breakfast. How are you holding up? Did you get any sleep last night?" I asked.

"I'm fine. I slept some," he said.

I had a hard time believing him. Sleeping in hospitals was nearly impossible in my experience.

"How's your mom?"

"She's reminded me six times this morning that I should marry you, so I think she's going to live."

I couldn't help but laugh out loud at that response.

"When will she get to go home?"

"Probably tomorrow if she stays on this trajectory," he explained. "My sister and dad will be here any minute. I'll be back in Trenton late morning."

"Cool, I didn't figure I'd see you today. Are you awake enough to drive?" I asked.

"Babe."

"That's not an answer," I scolded playfully.

"I'll be fine," he said, his tone betraying his amusement. "You're with Lester today if you leave Haywood."

"Well, tell your mom hi for me. By the way, we're invited to dinner tonight at my parents' house if you're a glutton for punishment. Ham and pineapple upside-down cake."

Ranger paused, evidently weighing his options.

"Sure," he said hesitantly.

"Really?" I said, disbelieving.

"Why not?" he responded. "I can leave for Newark from there."

"There are at least a million reasons to avoid dinner with my family at all costs," I said. "You're a good man, Charlie Brown."

I told him that I loved him and to drive carefully before disconnecting.

* * *

I found myself in the range with Lester and Joe twenty minutes later. Morelli was dressed in his Rangeman uniform and looked like hell with a black eye and a split lip.

"Good morning," I greeted.

"Good morning, Beautiful!" Lester greeted cheerfully.

Morelli was silent. He looked uncomfortable.

"Let's get this over with," I said, entering my firing lane. Morelli did the same. I emptied my clip into my target, adjusting my stance and grip between each shot. All of my shots hit my target. They weren't all fatal shots, but they would have at least slowed the paper dude down. I called that a win.

"Nice," Lester praised. "Definitely better than Tuesday."

I began reloading my gun, and Morelli did the same.

"Good, Joe. You're welcome to continue bi-weekly range time, but we can move to once per week if you'd rather. Your consistency is spot on."

Morelli considered this as he slid bullets into his clip.

"I'd like to shoot," he said, without a pause or a stutter.

We continued this routine through six more clips, the tenseness in the room failing to dissipate. When we sat to clean our guns, I noticed Morelli wasn't making eye contact with me. It was becoming clear this wasn't going to work if we were supposed to be partners. We were going to have to learn to work together through the awkwardness, or I was going to have to request a different partner.

"What's on your schedule today?" I asked Joe in a friendly tone.

He glanced up at me then looked down at his gun, thinking.

"Physical therapy. Speech therapy." He paused, his face tense with focus. "Training," he finally said.

"I'm out of here," Lester said, crossing to the door. "Call me if you want to trace skips today, Bomber." With that, he was gone.

"Busy day," I said to Morelli. "Hey, your speech is really improving," I praised him. "You should be proud of yourself."

"Thanks," he said. "I'm working on it."

"It shows. Do you want to grab lunch later?"

Morelli gave me a look like corn was growing out of my head.

"I'll buy," I said, slipping my gun into the gun belt. "Pino's?"

"No, thanks," he responded, pushing his stool away from the table.

I raised an eyebrow at him. I studied his face and saw sadness there.

"If we're going to be partners, we have to figure out how to co-exist," I said.

"I know," Morelli said, "but I need more time." He shoved his gun into his gun belt and left without another word.

* * *

Lester and I pulled up in front of the bonds office in my Jeep around 11 AM. To my surprise, Lula's Firebird was parked in front. I threw my messenger bag over my shoulder, and we ambled inside.

"Hey," I greeted casually, wandering over to the coffee pot for a cup.

"Hey yourself," said Connie, giving Lester a full-body scan. Connie was dressed in a tight grey sweater and a black pencil skirt, her four-inch platform heels poking out from under the desk. Her body was extra va-va-voom today.

"How are you, gorgeous?" Lester asked Connie, sitting on the edge of her desk.

"Better now that you're here," she replied, fanning herself.

"Get a room," Lula said from the leather couch. "Ain't nobody got time for this nonsense."

Today, Lula was sporting maroon leather pants, a black backless shirt with a low v-neck, and black heels. In lieu of her own hair, today Lula was wearing a long blonde wig.

"What's up, Lula?" I asked, taking a seat in a club chair.

"I was nearby on business, and I thought I'd drop in and say hello."

"What she means to say is she stopped by for a donut," Connie said, rolling her eyes.

"Well, that may have been the case, but there weren't any donuts," Lula said, sounding disappointed.

"Well, without you and Vinnie around these days, I've been buying fewer donuts," Connie said. "Maybe I'll finally lose the fifteen pounds I've been battling."

"Ain't nobody need that kind of negativity in their life," Lula said. "Donuts are happy food. You're fixin' to be a sad sorta person without donuts."

I had to admit, Lula was right. Donuts made me happy. Give me a Boston Crème to sink my teeth into, and I'd be a happy camper. But I also knew that donuts often caused my pants to be too tight, so I could appreciate Connie's perspective.

"Do you have plans tonight?" Lester asked Connie, waggling his eyebrows at her. "I thought maybe we could get dinner again."

"Sure, if you'll be dessert," Connie said, winking at him.

I feigned gagging noises, and the two glared at me.

"Any new files?" I asked Connie.

"Only one."

She passed me the file, and I opened it to study its contents.

"Elena Avalos, twenty-eight. Arrested for possession with intent to distribute. Lives in an apartment in North Trenton. Bartender. Not married, no kids. Looks like she's had a few similar charges in the past, but has got off with a slap on the wrist."

"It's unlikely she gets off so easily this time," Connie said, pushing back in her desk chair. "She had a kilo of heroin in her car."

"Ouch," Lester chimed in. "Sounds like that will be a legal mess."

"Where I'm from, we'd refer to her ambition as 'entrepreneurial,'" Lula said, scowling at Lester. "A girl's gotta make a living."

I glanced through a few more pages finding nothing remarkable, but I stopped short when I read the bond agreement.

"Dickie is her lawyer?" I asked Connie.

"Looks that way. Neither of them showed for court yesterday. I guess Dickie not showing was obvious."

"Well, he's not dead," I said, telling Connie about the call I'd received the night before.

"I'm actually kinda surprised," Connie said. "I honestly thought he'd be at the bottom of the Delaware."

"Me too," I said. "Something weird is going on, but I can't quite put the pieces together. Plus, he's a low bond and I'm not law enforcement. Figuring out his mess is not my job. I'll keep my eyes and ears open, but he's officially at the bottom of my list for now."

"Just be glad you left that loser," said Lula, swirling around a giant cup of soda.

"Speaking of Dickie's clients," Connie said, "I was able to get a rough list of some of Dickie's clients with the help of a guy at Rangeman. I think his name was Hector?"

I smiled. Nothing about this surprised me. I was pretty sure Hector could hack into the Pentagon if he wanted to. The guy had serious tech skills.

Connie handed me a file folder. "I imagine this is in no way a complete list, but maybe something will jump off the page for you."

"Thanks," I said, shoving the folder in my messenger bag. "Let's start by swinging by Elena Avalos's apartment," I said to Lester, arranging the items in my messenger bag. "Then we'll go from there."

"I'll see you tonight?" Lester asked Connie.

"You bet," she said, leaning forward to give Lester a good look at 'the girls' in her tight gray sweater.

"Pick you up at seven? Your place?"

"Sounds great," Connie said, smiling wide.

Lester stood, bent over Connie, and gave her a panty-trashing kiss. I made more gagging noises in honor of the occasion, and Lula rolled her eyes.

"Let's hit the road, Santos."


End file.
